


A Batch Made in Heaven

by Watching_The_Bees



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, M/M, dcbb15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 16:15:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5097050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watching_The_Bees/pseuds/Watching_The_Bees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the rich Castiel Novak buys half of Dean’s bakery, he knows things aren’t going to work out. Castiel comes in with a plan to change nearly everything that makes A Batch Made in Heaven Dean’s, and while Dean resists at first, he soon realizes that maybe Castiel isn’t everything he’s taken him to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

“You can’t do this, Bela,” Dean said into the receiver. “Come on, just give me a year, and I can probably buy it off you.”

“For what he’s offering?” Bela’s smooth as silk voice came through the other end. “Darling, it’d take you ten years and selling that ridiculous car to come up with what he’s giving me. Honestly, it’s probably more than the whole business is worth, let alone my fifty one percent.”

Dean ground his teeth together.

"But what if he comes in here and demands I change everything?" Dean asked. "You've left me with absolutely no power! Couldn't you have only sold him the forty nine percent?" he demanded.

"He wasn't offering the money for forty nine, he was offering it for fifty one," Bela said, her voice betraying her irritation. "And if he wants to change everything, you change it. You're a big boy, Dean, I trust you can play nice. Either way, it's no longer my concern."

Dean rubbed a palm across his forehead. "Fine. Just fucking fine. When should I expect him?"

"Tonight, I should think. His name is Castiel Novak, and he's worth more than half the town, so be on your best behavior," she said patronizingly.

"Whatever. Goodbye, Bela."

"Bye, sweetie."

Dean hung up, his jaw clenched. When he and Bela had opened A Batch Made in Heaven, they had been happily married. Dean finally got the bakery and coffee shop he'd been wanting for years, and Bela had gotten her own little shop to design, market, and slowly drain the finances of. It wasn't until Dean came in one day and flipped on the lights only to find that the electricity had been cut off that he took a closer look at the books. As it turned out, Bela had been stealing from their profits for years, siphoning off money to her own personal, private bank account. It wasn’t until Dean had Sam take a closer look at the books that they realized Bela, who had drawn up the original papers, had awarded herself controlling stock. And that was just the icing on the fucking cake.

Clenching and unclenching his fists, Dean tried to calm down. Now was not the time for this. The shop opened in an hour and Dean had nothing but yesterday's discounted leftovers to fill the display cases with. He ran his hands through his hair and then headed for the baking equipment. Baking always calmed him down - one of the many reasons he had started so long ago.

Halfway through a batch of scones, Dean was finally able to breathe and think normally. Castiel Novak would be coming around tonight, it seemed. Hopefully he wouldn't wait until after Dean closed up; he liked to get to bed at a normal hour, and Mondays were Charlie's day off. The shop was small; usually Dean could run it alone, but that meant absurdly long days. It was nice to have Charlie's help to take the edge off of the afternoon and evening shifts, even though he had to be there every morning to bake.

By the time Dean had finished a batch of scones, a rack full of fresh rolls, and a couple dozen danishes, the shop was ready to open. He flipped the sign from "Closed" to "Open," then wandered to the counter, heading back to the kitchen. There was a bell in case a customer arrived, so Dean could still bake and man the register. Before he had stepped two feet away from the door, however, the bell above the door chimed, and Dean turned around.

"Welcome-" Dean cut himself off. The customer who stood in front of him was fucking gorgeous. His hair was dark and artfully messy, and a pair of extraordinarily blue eyes stared at Dean as he fumbled to regain his train of thought. "Welcome to A Batch Made in Heaven. We just opened," Dean added, just for something to say.

"I hope I am not too early to purchase some of your baked goods?" the customer asked, tilting his head slightly.

"No, man, of course not!" Dean said, heading around the cash register to stand behind the display case. "What kind of store would we be if we opened before there was anything to sell?" he pointed out, smiling. "Though, granted, the options are a little limited until I get a few more things in the oven, but at least you know everything's fresh."

The customer gave a slight smile, surveying the case. "I have no doubt as to the freshness of these baked goods... Dean," he said, eyeing Dean's name tag. "I'll take a scone and a cherry danish."

Dean reached into the case with wax paper, plucking the desired pastries from the rack and placing them in a little sky blue cardboard box. He closed it and turned back to the register as the man said, "Do you work here alone?"

"Nah," Dean replied. "Only today; I give the other lady who works here, Charlie, Mondays off."

The man squinted at him curiously. "And do you get a day off?"

"I don't need one," Dean replied, punching in the price of the pastries. "I'm the owner, so I should be here every day anyway."

Looking unconvinced, the man made to hand over his credit card, then changed his mind at the last minute, offering a ten dollar bill. "Keep the change."

"Are you sure?" Dean asked. The change was almost more than the pastries cost.

"Have a good day, Dean," the man said, stepping away with his box in hand. "Out of curiosity, when do you close?" The intensity of his gaze was so distracting that Dean had a hard time remembering the answer to such a simple question.

"Five," Dean replied.

The man nodded. "Thank you."

"Anytime. Enjoy!" Dean called as he retreated back into the kitchen to take several deep breaths and get his bearings. Dean kind of wished that guy would stop back every morning; he was definitely a sight to kick off Dean's day. If Castiel Novak was to show up later that night, Dean was at least glad that one end of his day had gone well.

A half an hour before close, Dean eyed the door, willing this Castiel Novak to just show up already. He was tired and wanted to go home, make himself a burger, and have a Doctor Sexy marathon in his underwear. Was that really too much to ask? A short man in a sharp business suit pushed through the door and stalked up to the counter, saying brusquely, "Half a dozen cupcakes."

Dean's stomach dropped in disappointment. "Sure," he said, packing them up in a box. As he was ringing the customer up, the bell over the door chimed again. Dean looked up hopefully, and was shocked to see the same blue-eyed guy from earlier that morning standing in the doorway. Muttering, "Thank you. Come back soon," to the man in front of him Dean, slid the box across the counter without taking his eyes off the handsome stranger by the door.

The man left, and Dean leaned on the countertop, asking, "Back for more?"

"Your pastries were very good, Dean," the guy said, stepping forward. "However, I am not back for more."

"Oh?" Dean asked, barely letting himself get his hopes up. If he hadn't come back for food, was there a chance he had come back for Dean?

"Yes," the guy said, pulling his hands from his pockets and offering one of them. “I'm Castiel Novak, your new partner in A Batch Made in Heaven."

Dean stared at him, then straightened, accepting the handshake. "You were testing me," he accused. "This morning. That was a test."

Castiel inclined his head. "Yes, it was."

"Well, did I pass?" Dean asked.

Castiel didn't respond, instead stepping over to the display case, saying, "What do you do with these leftover pastries?"

"Uh, I sell them for half price the next day."

A furrow crept across Castiel's brow. "That is an awful lot of left over."

"What can I say, it was a slow day," Dean replied defensively.

"Hm." Castiel moved on, peering closely at the decor.

Hm? Dean thought. What did that mean?

“These walls are… busy,” Castiel commented.

"It matches the floor," Dean replied. He rather liked how the sky blue and white striped paint tied into the white and blue swirled tile on the floor. It played on the "heaven" aspect of their name, and Dean thought it was cute and inviting.

"The floor is also outdated," Castiel concluded. "It looks like something out of a children's book."

Dean felt a flare of indignation. "No one else has complained about it before."

"What is the point of complaining when you can do nothing to change it?" Castiel asked, turning back towards Dean. "I, however, do not have those limitations."

"Listen, buddy, you can't just barge in here and-"

Castiel took a step forward so that he and Dean were only separated by the counter. "I can. I can because I have controlling stock in this company, and that gives me both the power and the right to change what I see fit." They glared at each other for a long moment, and Dean no longer found Castiel's eyes quite so enchanting now that he knew how much of a dick he was. "I'd like to see the kitchen now, if you don't mind."

"Go for it," Dean said through clenched teeth.

Castiel stepped around the counter and headed back into the other room. Dean followed reluctantly, aware that Castiel would probably be criticizing everything. He wasn't wrong.

"Do you have only four mixing bowls?" Castiel asked.

"Yes," Dean replied shortly.

"Why so few? Does that not limit the amount of goods you can make at one time?"

"I'm only one person; I can only do so many things at  once. Having fewer bowls just forces me to clean them all after finishing one recipe, so the dishes don't stack up," Dean replied. Castiel was examining a crème brûlée torch, and Dean snapped, "Put that down. You'll burn yourself.”

Castiel turned his gaze on Dean, looking slightly affronted. "I know how to handle myself in a kitchen, Dean Winchester. I did not choose to invest in this store only to do no work in it."

Dean's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Excuse me?"

Castiel tilted his head in confusion. "Did you do something for which you should be excused?"

Blinking, Dean brushed that off, instead saying, "You plan to work here? To bake?"

"Yes, Dean. It certainly looks like you could use some help, and, I'll admit, that was partially the reason for my joining this business venture." Castiel cast his gaze up to the ceiling and around the room absently. Dean absolutely could not picture him making anything in a kitchen like this.

"Right," Dean said. "Right, well, that's not happening."

"Whether you agree or not," Castiel said, "I assure you, it is happening. But not for a while yet."

Dean let out a breath of relief. At least he'd have a few weeks or maybe a month to try and figure out a loophole that would give him control over the company again. Maybe Sam would have some sort of lawyer expertise he could borrow. Dean resolved to call him when he got home. "When do you plan to start working here?" Dean asked.

Castiel turned his head back to face Dean. "Well, not until the renovations are finished, of course."

Any and all relief that Dean had just felt vanished. "Renovations?" he demanded. "What renovations?"

"I was thinking an entirely new front lobby area," Castiel said seriously. "New tables, chairs. Replace the floor and strip the wallpaper. Resurface the countertop, maybe. Paint the outside and replace the awnings. By the time I'm finished, everything will look brand new."

Dean stared at him in horror. "I don't want brand new, I want what we've got!" Dean growled. "This is my shop you're talking about."

"I will have one of my design specialists draw up some concepts; I'm certain you will end up liking them," Castiel said. "And I really wish you would acknowledge that this now my shop as well, Dean. Mostly mine, actually." He tilted his head slightly, his expression blank and firm.

Dean stared at him, mouth hanging open. Anger coursed through his veins, but he was currently speechless. He half wanted to punch Castiel in the face and the other half simply thought that Castiel was very good at being commanding. That thought was silenced by the fact that Castiel was systematically tearing down everything that made Dean's shop his. He fumed in silence as Castiel stepped past him towards the door.

"Thank you for your time, Dean. Please notify your other employee that starting Wednesday, we will be closed for renovations. Please post it on the door and apologize to customers. I will be back first thing Wednesday morning to discuss how we will proceed. Goodnight."

Castiel was gone before Dean had regained his composure. He slammed his palm into the aluminum table and let his head hang between his shoulders. Dean couldn't believe he had hoped that Castiel was interested in him. He was glad that he hadn't made a move on that asshole. Working with him was bound to be a joy.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Can he even do that?” Charlie demanded, her hands on her hips.

Dean sighed, wiping the counter for the ten thousandth time. “According to Sam, it’s well within his legal rights to do whatever he wants. Without one or two more percent, I’m powerless.”

“That bitch,” Charlie breathed, and Dean knew she was referring to Bella. “Why’d Novak buy it off her, anyway? Is he a high roller with a secret donut addiction?”

“Worse,” Dean said. He gathered the crumbs from the bottom of the display case and dumped them into the trash. “He’s a high roller with a secret baking addiction. Or at least that’s what I gather from the fact that he plans on working here.”

Charlie stopped icing cupcakes and looked at him. “Working here?”

“Yeah. Like baking stuff alongside me. In the kitchen. In my kitchen.” Dean didn’t bother to hide his irritation.

“Wow. He sounds like a real charmer too,” Charlie said sarcastically as she made a little icing flower. Dean scoffed, not wanting to think about the fact that, up until Castiel had revealed his identity and started talking take-over, Dean had been more than a little charmed by him. “Do I have to go to this meeting too?”

“Probably not,” Dean said. “I’ll ask him, and if he wants you, you can always come in late. I’ll call you.”

Charlie nodded, brushing her red hair out of her eyes with an elbow. “Oh, and one more thing. Am I getting paid during your renovations or whatever?”

Dean didn’t hesitate in replying, “Of course. Even if it means he’s paying you out of pocket.”

Grinning, Charlie replied, “Awesome.”

**  
  
**

“I was thinking we move the display case to here,” Castiel said, spreading out a blueprint and pointing. “Then the cash register can go here, which will be in direct line of sight of the customers as they walk in…. Dean? Are you listening?”

Dean was leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed and a surly look on his face. “I’m listening.”

Castiel frowned. “Do you have any thoughts?”

“Other than that a renovation is fucking stupid?” Dean asked.

“Yes, other than that,” Castiel replied calmly.

That brought Dean up short. He was almost hoping for a fight, but it didn’t look like Castiel was going to give him one. “If we move the display case to the back, don’t you think it’ll be less effective when people walk in? Right now, they have to walk past all the baked goods to get to anything. Plus, the kitchen is right behind the counter. It’s convenient.”

Castiel looked down at the blueprint and frowned. “I suppose you’re right. I was just thinking that having the cash register as the first thing the customer sees would be a good idea.”

“Why?” Dean asked.

Castiel narrowed his eyes more in confusion than hostility. “It seems to me that you work at the register often. I think it is good in a business to have the owners in prominent view.”

“As you keep reminding me, I’m no longer the controlling owner,” Dean grumbled.

“Yes, but I plan to be in the kitchen most of the time,” Castiel said. “I assumed that between you and your other employee, the front would be manned.”

Dean prickled. “Are you going to take my job away from me then? Turn me into a run of the mill cashier? I didn’t start a bakery not to bake, Castiel.”

Castiel was still calm, annoyingly so. “You’re free to bake whenever you like, provided there is someone to cover the cash register.”

“Fine,” Dean agreed. He crossed his arms again.

“Now, I was thinking we go for a sort of modern rustic vibe,” Castiel said, “with clean colors, but an antique feel. I thought we could put down some nice, knotted hardwood floors, and get a wooden countertop. Maybe hang some meal lights on the walls…”

Dean zoned out as Castiel talked. It wasn’t that he didn’t care what happened to the bakery - that was just about all he cared about in the world - it was just that he realized now that he was absolutely powerless to say no to Castiel. If the guy wanted to get cow print carpet and serve drinks in mason jars, Dean would have no choice but to either comply or sell his part of the business and walk away.

The thought made him indescribably angry.

“Yeah, Cas, do whatever you want,” Dean cut Castiel off eventually. “I don’t even know why you’re telling me this; it’s not like you’d listen to my opinion either way.”

Castiel stared at Dean for a long moment, and he seemed a bit apologetic when he said, “I see. I feel as if we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.”

“No, really?” Dean asked, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “I thought you were nice when you were just a customer, but then you barge in here talking about all the shit you want to change and declaring that it’s your shop now. But, no, that’s a perfectly fine foot to get off on, isn’t it?”

“I might have been a bit… overbearing,” Castiel conceded. “I apologize. I am willing to take your opinions into account.”

“That’s okay,” Dean said, annoyed. He waved his hand. “Do whatever the hell you want.”

Castiel still stared at Dean. “I can’t decide if you mean that or are just being facetious.”

Dean didn’t reply.

After a sigh, Castiel went back to planning. “I contacted the flooring specialists, but they don’t have another opening in their schedule until next Friday. I hate to keep the shop closed for that long, if I can help it. Unfortunately, they are also the best painters in town, which also pushes that until Friday.”

“I know how to lay hardwood floors,” Dean blurted before remembering that he was trying to be surly and thoroughly unhelpful. “I mean, not that you’d trust me to do it. I’m just an amateur.”

Castiel cocked his head at Dean. “I’m sure you can manage. In that case, if you do the floor, then I’ll paint.”  
Great, Dean thought. More bonding time with the boss. Dean just shrugged.

“I’ll order the wood now, then. With rush shipping, it should be here by tomorrow, and we could get started Friday. The appliance installers are coming tomorrow to update the kitchen.”

“I maintain that the kitchen doesn’t need updated,” Dean grumbled.

“It might take a while to adjust, but I’m sure you’ll get used to it,” Castiel said, moving on already. “Your other employee - how is she with design?”

“Design like… drawing? She writes the letters on all our cakes and does the little flowers most of the time,” Dean said.

Castiel shook his head. “I meant with interior design. If I’m paying her during renovation, as you insist, she won’t be sitting around doing nothing. Perhaps she could look for decorations to go with our rustic theme.”

“Your rustic theme,” Dean corrected.

“You don’t like it?”

“I like it the way it is,” Dean insisted. “It’s cute and welcoming.”

Castiel scrutinized Dean. “I wouldn’t have taken you for someone who enjoys ‘cute’.”

Dean forced down a retort when he realized that Castiel seemed to have meant that more as a statement than an insult. It was as if he were making a simple observation and nothing more. “She could probably do that,” Dean said after a minute of silence.  
“Pardon?”

“Charlie. She could probably find some decorations. She’s got a pretty good eye.”

Castiel nodded. “Perhaps she could come in on Friday, and we can give her a sense of what she’s looking for, then send her out. I think antique shops would be the best place to look.”

“I’ll let her know,” Dean promised. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and glanced at the text message from Sam. “Is there anything else you need me for? I have an appointment to get to.”

“I think we’ve covered everything of importance,” Castiel said. “I’ll handle the scheduling of the contractors for tomorrow, but plan to be here first thing Friday morning unless I tell you differently.”

Dean nodded. “Right. Well, you have my number, so…”

“Enjoy your appointment, Dean.”

“Enjoy your… scheduling.”

For the first time since pretending to be a customer, Castiel’s lips twitched into a soft smile. Dean just picked up his keys and left, idly wondering whether Castiel would spend the entire night there.

On the way to Sam’s, Dean stopped and picked up some sort of fancy looking wine that he hoped would be okay for whatever Jess was making for dinner. During the drive, Dean tried not to think about Castiel or the business, or how the man had absolutely no business being that attractive and such a dick at the same time. He cursed Bella with every fiber of his being for selling out her shares like that. Couldn’t she have at least done him the courtesy of leaving him with controlling stock?

Dean got himself worked up, then had to relax again before he rang Sam’s doorbell. His little brother knew him well enough to see when something was wrong, and if he came in all pissed, even if it was covered well, Sam would notice.

“Dean!” Sam said, greeting him at the door. “Come on in.”

Dean stepped inside, clapping his taller brother on the shoulder as he passed. “Where’s your lovely girlfriend? I brought her a present.”

Sam gave a fake pout. “What, no presents for me?”

“You can have a present next time you slave away in the kitchen,” Jess said, coming into the foyer and accepting the wine before pressing a kiss to Dean’s cheek.

“Well, hello to you too,” he said, his tone light.

Jess grinned. “Hope you like grilled chicken?”

“You know I’ll eat anything,” Dean said, following her into the dining room, where there was already food on the table.

“Anything that’s not remotely healthy,” Sam corrected.

“Hey!” Dean said indignantly. “This is grilled. That’s healthy.”

Jess laughed. “I’m not so sure about the pecan pie for dessert, though.”

Dean groaned, “Ugh. How come Sam found you first?”

“He’s tall,” Jess replied, pouring Dean a glass of wine. “He spotted me over the crowd and beat all the other guys,” she said with a wink.

“Sasquatch at it again,” Dean muttered. “Monsters always get the girls.”

Sam snorted. “What are you talking about? Monsters never get the girls.”

“Really? Beauty and the Beast. The Hulk with Liv Tyler,” Dean gave as evidence. He speared a piece of chicken and transferred it to his plate, seating it atop a bed of rice.

“That’s two, Dean. Two hardly constitutes ‘always’.”

“Shut up, lawyer boy,” Dean grumbled.

Jess smiled, shaking her head and sending her blonde curls springing. “You two have the absolute strangest arguments.”

“And I didn’t even mention the fact that Sasquatch isn’t a monster but an urban legend,” Sam pointed out.

“You’re an urban legend,” Dean replied, and for once his retort actually made sense.

Sam just shook his head and changed the subject. “So, Dean, how are things with the new guy? What’d you say his name was?”

“Castiel,” Dean replied. “Weird ass name, I know,” he added upon seeing Sam’s expression. “And things are not going well.”

“Uh-oh,” Jess commented, pouring Dean more wine. He thanked her with his eyes.

“He just… Ugh. He thinks he can just change whatever the hell he wants. He’s completely redoing the place - going for some kind of ‘modern rustic’ look. Modern and rustic? How the hell is that supposed to work?”

Neither answered him, just let him rant and get it out of his system. “He wants to paint over everything, and he’s ripping out most of the kitchen for ‘updates.’ I just got all new appliances when we opened three years ago.”

“Did you tell him that?” Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. “He doesn’t care. He’s got the money, he’s got the power, and he’s gonna do what he wants.” Dean angrily stabbed a piece of asparagus. “I’m just pissed, you know, because I opened that place with the last of the money that mom and dad left us, as well as a huge gift from Ellen and Bobby. And now he’s re-doing everything, and I feel like that’s all gone to waste.”

“That’s not right,” Jess agreed. “You guys are supposed to be partners. It’s not a dictatorship.”

“It is now,” Dean said, resigned. “So, I guess I’m just going to have to go with it. It’s either that or give up the shop, and that would be even worse, so…”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam said. “I wish there was some way I could get you out of this…”

“It’s alright. At least I’ve still got Charlie around to keep me sane.”

“That’s true.”

As the evening wore down, Dean made his excuses and headed home early. It had been a long day, and he was in desperate need of a Dr. Sexy marathon to distract him from Castiel and all the stress he’d brought with him. It was going to have to be quite a marathon.

**  
**


	3. Chapter 3

On Friday morning, Dean pulled up in front of the bakery, unloading his tools out of the trunk of the Impala. It had been a while since he’d done any work like this, so he had stopped to borrow a few things from Bobby the day before. Dean just hoped the materials were here already so that he could get to work and get finished as quickly as possible. He didn’t like the idea of Castiel breathing down his neck the whole time.

The bell rang as Dean pushed open the shop’s front door, ignoring the sign that said, “TEMPORARILY CLOSED FOR REMODELING. SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE.”

“Hello?” Dean called as he found the place empty. He held his breath, hoping it truly was.

“Dean,” Castiel called, and Dean’s mood soured. “Come see the new kitchen.”

Dean figured he might as well go see just how horrible Castiel had made it, so he put down his toolbox and stepped behind the counter, through the kitchen door. Dean stopped in his tracks.

Everything was bright, shiny, and aluminum. All of the appliances were new, and there were several new tall racks with cookie sheets on them. A stack of mixing bowls sat on the counter, and the overhead lights seemed brighter. Castiel was in the center of it all, looking proud. “What do you think?”

Dean had to admit, it didn’t seem too bad. He spied a couple of gadgets that he’d seen advertised in cooking catalogues but had never been able to afford to buy, and itched to try them out. Of course, he couldn’t say any of this to Castiel. “I think you wasted a lot of money and threw out a bunch of perfectly good appliances, but whatever. It’s fine.”

Castiel’s expression dimmed a bit. “I didn’t throw them out. I sold them to a friend of mine who is also starting a bakery. The money from them helped pay for these.”

“Oh, so now we’re supporting the competition?” Dean asked, being difficult.

“Balthazar is no threat to us. His shop is all the way across town.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean said snappily. “Can I get to work now, or what?”

Castiel nodded. “Of course. Your materials are out back, and if you need anything that isn’t there, I can phone the hardware shop and have them bring it down.”

“Got it,” Dean said, then left the kitchen. As nice as it seemed, it wasn’t the same space he’d grown accustomed to, and he didn’t feel comfortable in it anymore.

Dean headed outside to get the rest of his tools, then came back surprised to find Castiel in a ratty blue t-shirt and running shorts where he had been nicely dressed a minute ago. “Um,” he said. “Did you just change?”

“In the kitchen, yes. I closed the door first.” Castiel studied him. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” Dean said, but he really meant yes. “I was just about to start moving these tables and chairs into the kitchen.”

“Let me help you,” Castiel said, grabbing one nearest him and completely missing Dean’s point that he very nearly walked in on Castiel changing. That would have been awkward on very many levels, not least of which was that Dean had to admit that Castiel was unfairly attractive for such an asshole.

Sighing, Dean picked up another table and began stacking them around the center aluminum island in the kitchen. He turned the chairs upside down and put them on the tables, and, with Castiel helping him, the shop was clear in less than a half hour.

“Why don’t you paint while I try to get this floor up,” Dean said, gesturing at the tile. “That way you won’t get anything on the new hardwood.”

Castiel agreed, and when he pulled out the cans of paint from a bag behind the counter, Dean was surprised.

“Light blue?” Dean asked. “I thought you nixed the sky theme.”

“I simply think that the blue you have is a little too…vibrant, and the stripes are tacky. This is a very soft shade of blue, it will look nice with the dark walnut countertop.”

Dean huffed, “Whatever.”

Two hours of pounding, jamming, stomping, breaking, and cursing later, Dean finally managed to pry up the last tile on that infuriating floor. He wiped the sweat from his brow and rocked back on his heels. For the first time, he looked over at the opposite wall where Castiel was painting. It was the last wall he had to do, and he was already on the second coat. Dean watched as Cas’ muscles rippled underneath his T-shirt as he pushed the roller up and down the subtle blue expanse of wall. He knew he should probably look away, but it took a good thirty seconds before his brain could process that thought and actually obey.

Unfortunately, in those thirty seconds, Castiel turned back to look at Dean. He didn’t seem to notice that Dean was staring when he said, “Are you finished ripping up the floor?”

“Huh?” Dean’s mouth replied for him while his brain was still trying to sort itself out. “Oh, uh, yeah. Still have to lay the new stuff, though.”

Castiel nodded, finished the wall with a final swipe, then laid his roller down in the paint pan. He picked up his paint supplies, then headed to the kitchen, presumably to wash them out. Before he crossed the threshold, however, he paused. “Is there any way… I could help?"

Dean looked up sharply, wiping the sweat from his brow with his arm to cover his surprise. “Uh, have you ever done anything like this before?”

“I am a fast learner.”

Raising a brow, Dean asked, “Rich guy like you willing to get your hands dirty?”

Castiel’s lips twitched into what almost resembled a smirk, and he raised his hands, nearly covered in blue paint. “They already are.”

Dean wanted to smile, but then he remembered that he was supposed to be hating Castiel. He quickly aborted his laugh in favor of a huff and replied, “Well, then, uh. Get cleaned up, and we’ll get started.”

After Castiel disappeared into the kitchen, Dean ran his hand through his hair, not caring about the little pieces of dust and tile he added to the sweaty mess. He wasn’t sure what to expect from working with Castiel like this. Baking, he could handle. Castiel seemed to know his way around a kitchen, and it seemed more or less normal for him to be doing something hard, but dignified. But physical labor? That did not seem like Castiel’s forte, and Dean was afraid that he’d drag him down more than speed him up.

Just as Castiel returned, there was a knock on the door to the shop. They both turned that way, and Dean almost called out that they were closed and to read the fucking sign when he saw it was Charlie. The words died in his mouth, but Castiel was already headed for the door. He pointed through the glass at the sign just as Dean said, “Cas, that’s Charlie.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, dropping his hand. He flipped the lock and opened the door. “Apologies,” he said. “I didn’t realize you worked here.”

Charlie scrutinized him. “So you’re Novak, huh? I thought you’d be taller.”

“I’m…sorry?” Castiel tried, sounding confused. “Come in.”

Stepping in, Charlie surveyed the room. She frowned. “I liked the stripes better.”

Castiel frowned too, closing the door again. “We are going for a modern rustic look.”

“So I heard,” Charlie said. “I hope you realize that’s an oxymoron.”

Dean fought a grin. If there was anyone who wouldn’t just accept things at face value, it would be Charlie. Castiel looked at her, squinting slightly and turning his head. Dean ignored the voice that whispered about how cute the gesture was.

“I only mean that everything is to be clean and simple, but maintain a rustic sort of elegance,” Castiel explained. “It’s important that you understand me, for I was planning to send you to look for decor.”

“What kind of decor?” Charlie asked.

“Lighting, wall decorations, centerpieces, maybe…” Castiel suggested.

Charlie considered this. “Will you pay me for gas?”

“Naturally.”

“Deal,” Charlie said. “Where do you want me to go first?”

Dean interrupted, “Anywhere that sells food.”

Castiel glanced over at Dean, saying, “I apologize. You’ve been working hard; I should have thought to suggest ordering something.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Dean said.

“I’ll drop off a pizza,” Charlie promised. “Provided I get a slice.”

“Well, of course,” Dean replied, grinning at her. Charlie had started out as a simple employee looking to put herself through graduate school, but she had quickly become one of Dean’s best friends. Sometimes he wished she was interested in guys; it would be so easy to date Charlie, and she was one of the few who knew all about his issues with Bella but didn’t judge him for them.

“As for where to start,” Castiel continued, “I’ll leave that to your discretion.” He went behind the counter and pulled his wallet off of one of the shelves under the cash register. When he returned to Charlie, he offered a credit card. “Put it on here.”

“Do I have a budget?” Charlie asked, her eyes sparkling.

“No,” Castiel replied. “And if you pick me up a vanilla latte from the nearest coffee shop, whatever you and Dean would like is on me too.”

The moment Castiel turned his back, Charlie glanced at Dean and punched triumphantly into the air. Dean grinned. Charlie had gone on coffee runs for him enough times that he didn’t need to state his order, but he found himself thinking about Castiel’s. It made sense; for some reason, Dean would have pegged him as a vanilla latte kind of guy.

Charlie headed for the door. “In that case, one pizza and coffee, coming right up. Have fun with the heavy lifting, boys!” She waved and disappeared out the door with the tinkle of bells.

Suddenly, being alone with Castiel seemed… awkward. Stifling. Dean felt the sudden urge to get out of there, but he still had work to do. “So, what is the first thing we have to do?” Castiel asked after a pause, forcing Dean to acknowledge him.

“Uh, we’ve got to roll out the tarpaper.”

“That’s out back,” Castiel said helpfully.

“I know,” Dean replied. “I’ll get it.”

“Do you need help?”

Dean shook his head a little too fast. “No, I got it. Here,” Dean said, thrusting broom and dustpan at him. “Why don’t you, uh, sweep up?”

Castiel nodded, taking to his job as seriously as he did everything else. He was laser focused, as if sweeping the dust and debris off the floor was the most important job he could be given. Dean watched him for a half a second before escaping outside.

Dean took his time locating the large roll of tarpaper and maneuvering it through the back entrance to the kitchen. Castiel looked up from his sweeping as Dean punched the large black roll into the swinging kitchen door. “Little help?” he grunted.

Immediately dropping his broom, Castiel hurried over, helping guide the tarpaper through the door and onto the floor. Dean let his end fall with a thump, then took a deep breath, wiping his palms on his jeans. “Right,” he said. “Now we gotta roll this out…”

Castiel helped him roll, and it was easy, for the most part. It was simply roll, cut, repeat. Neither one of them spoke. When eventually the floor was coated in tarpaper, Dean and Castiel carried in a box of hardwood floor from the outside, and Dean laid out a few pieces. He didn’t know what kind of wood it was, but its dark, knotted surface definitely gave a rustic feel.

Charlie dropped off a pizza before he had even managed to lay one row out. She didn’t stay to chat, for she seemed anxious to be on her way to go shopping on Castiel’s credit card. Dean took the pizza from her at the door, then carried it over to the counter and opened it up.

“Aren’t you going to wash your hands?” Castiel asked.

“Eh, a few germs won’t kill me,” Dean said with a shrug, taking a piece and biting into it. Castiel didn’t look convinced. He disappeared into the kitchen for a second, then returned with paper plates. Dean took one simply because it was there; it wasn’t like he needed one.

For a while, they ate in silence. Dean kept thinking that maybe he should try to start conversation, but then realized that he had nothing to say to Castiel. It wasn’t like they were friends sharing a pizza; it was just a necessary lunch break between co-workers. Castiel seemed content with the silence, which was why Dean was surprised when he initiated a conversation.

“Where did you learn how to do all of this, Dean?” Castiel asked, taking a second slice of pizza.

Dean considered brushing off the question, but for some unknown reason, he didn’t. He answered, “I helped my… Uncle Bobby remodel his house a few years back. He taught me some things.” Dean always struggled with what to call Bobby. He was more than a friend, more than an uncle even; he had raised Dean and Sam after the car accident years ago, yet Dean didn’t feel right shifting the title of “father” from his real dad to Bobby. It wasn’t his dad’s fault that Bobby had taken them in.

Castiel nodded, looking around the room. “I always wanted to learn practical skills such as this.”

Huffing a laugh, Dean replied, “Why would you need to? You could always just pay someone to do it.”

Castiel frowned at him. “Is it not more satisfying to complete something with your own two hands? Besides, I have the time and the resources to learn, so why wouldn’t I? I don’t like having to rely on anyone but myself.”

“The world let you down?” Dean asked, smirking. He ignored the wise comments previous to that.

“Not the whole world,” Castiel said, not meeting Dean’s eyes. “Just some of it.”

Dean didn’t ask, even though he felt like since he had volunteered a bit of personal information, so should Castiel. Even so, Dean wasn’t enough of an asshole to push it.

“Well,” Dean said stiffly. “We should get to work if we want to finish before sundown.”

“Of course,” Castiel agreed, rubbing his hands together. “Where do we start?”

A half hour later, Dean had a saw set up behind the shop, and had propped open both doors to the kitchen for easy access. “So, I’ll measure, then give you the boards to cut, alright?”

Castiel nodded. “Should we not be wearing gloves?”

“Afraid of a few splinters?” Dean asked, his lip quirking up.

Castiel just frowned at him and said no more about it. “No. Though, uh, I guess now would be an adequate time to tell you that I have no idea how to use a saw.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Dean muttered, and Castiel’s frown deepened. “I’ll show you.”

Following Dean out back, Castiel squatted down beside him on the ground. Dean tried not to notice Castiel’s toned runner’s legs, which were revealed when his shorts rode up. Coughing, Dean gestured to the circular saw. “It’s easy,” he said. “You just line the board up here, then gently pull the blade down so you can see if it’s going to hit the mark. Then you just-“

Dean squeezed the handle and the blade whirred to life, startling Castiel so much that he fell back onto his ass. Dean let the blade come to a rest and looked down at Castiel, his blue eyes wide and startled, and laughed. “Easy, there.”

“You could have warned me,” Castiel accused.

“I didn’t realize you were going to freak out at a simple saw.”

Castiel scowled. “I see nothing ‘simple’ about it. It is a blade spinning fast enough to cut through solid wood, and, therefore, human flesh. It’s not an unusual thing to be alarmed by. It’s simple self preservation.”

Dean was still grinning as he let go of the saw and let it drift back up. “Whatever, Cas. You think you’ll be able to handle this?”

Jaw set in determination, Castiel nodded. That was all the assurance Dean needed, so he headed back inside, eager to get this done with so that he could go home and continue to avoid Castiel for the foreseeable future. He stubbornly ignored the little feeling in his chest which sank in disappointment with that plan.

They got to work, and it was easy, for the most part. Dean would measure, then hand the board off to Castiel, who would walk to the saw while repeating the measurements under his breath. Then, he’d measure twice just to be sure, don safety glasses, cut, and return the board to Dean.

They had a system. It worked, and there was minimal interaction. It should have been ideal, but Dean was left wondering why he hated every minute of it.

Regardless, Dean said nothing but simply worked steadily, the sweat running down his back and dripping onto the black tarpaper. Slowly, the room began to come together, and he had to admit that the dark wood looked good against the blue walls. Even the white countertop stood out more than before, even though it probably wouldn’t remain. Still, Dean started to envision some warm, bright lights on the walls to lend the perfect atmosphere to the room.

When they finished, Dean stepped back and admired his handiwork. Castiel joined him silently, startling Dean when he looked back and found himself almost nose to nose with his business partner. “Jeez, personal space, Cas.”

“My apologies,” Castiel said, taking a respectful step back. Dean didn’t examine his stomach drop too deeply.

“Well? What do you think?” Dean asked, gesturing around at the room. “Did I pass?”

“More than,” Castiel said. “Should I ever need another floor replaced, I know just who to call.”

Dean held up his hands. “Woah, dude, I’m a baker, not a handyman.” Still, Dean secretly glowed at the compliment.

“It seems to me you’re a bit of both,” Castiel commented idly. After a pause, he asked, “What… What do you think?”

Reluctant to admit that he actually thought it looked pretty damn good, Dean replied, “Not bad.”

Castiel didn’t reply immediately. He glanced towards the storefront and said, “It’s nearly evening. You ought to go home.”

Dean wiped the sweat from his brow with an arm. “Yeah, I could use a shower. You worked hard today too,” he said, picking up a few of his tools, but deciding to leave the rest for morning. As Dean gathered his personal items from the back of the counter, he paused at the light switch. “Are you going home too, or should I leave everything on?”

“I’ll stay a little while longer,” Castiel said.

“Won’t your family be missing you?” Dean asked lightly.

Castiel tilted his head. “My family and I aren’t nearly close enough to miss. No one will mind if I stay.”

Dean cocked a brow. “Really? Not even a special someone?” Dean didn’t know why he cared. That was a lie. He knew exactly why he cared, and it all had to do with those fucking blue eyes and the way that dark hair stood up in sweaty spikes, dusted with a layer of sawdust. He’s a dick who stole your shop, Dean reminded himself. He’s a hot dick who stole your shop, the voice in his head corrected.

“No,” Castiel said simply.

Dean forced a shrug and headed for the door. “Well, uh, when do you want to meet up again? To plan the rest of the renovation, that is.”

“Are you busy tomorrow?”

“I’d usually be working, so that’s a no,” Dean said. “Morning or afternoon?”

Castiel answered, “Afternoon, please.”

“Okay. I’ll be here.”

Dean paused at the door, turning to say, “Goodnight, Cas.”

Castiel looked confused for a moment, his eyes seeming to bore into Dean. “Goodnight, Dean.”

That gaze seemed to follow Dean all the way home.


	4. Chapter 4

Charlie let out a low, appreciative whistle the next day when she met Dean at the shop. “Looking good, Winchester.”

“Me or the floor?”

She grinned, then set two large bags up on the counter top. “Behold, the fruits of my search.”

Dean reached for the bags, but Charlie put up a hand to stop him. “What, you’re not going to wait for the boss before checking it out?”

Scowling at her, Dean replied, “He’s not my boss.”

Charlie gave him a look. “Dean. If that were true, would the shop look the way it does now?”

“Well, no,” Dean admitted. “But I have to say, it’s sort of growing on me.”

Flipping her long red hair over her shoulder, Charlie raised a brow. “And does that have anything to do with the fact that your boss has a face to die for?”

“What?” Dean blurted a little too fast. “Of course not.”

Charlie, as usual, could see right through him. “It’s okay, Dean. I think he’s dreamy too.”

“I do not think he’s dream-“

There was a polite cough from behind Dean, and he spun towards the shop door. Castiel stood there in business clothes this time. It was weird how quickly Dean had gotten used to seeing him in work clothes. It was jarring to see the trench coat and suit return. Not that Dean was thinking of any of this while he was currently blushing bright red.

“I’m sorry, am I interru-“ Castiel began.

“No!” Dean say, way too quickly. “Um…”

“Dean was just denying his crush on Harrison Ford,” Charlie broke in smoothly, rescuing Dean. Though, the more he thought about it, the more he wondered whether it was a “rescue” at all. She had just pretty much told Castiel that he was into guys, which was… awkward to say the least. “We go back and forth about it all the time; it’s nothing new,” Charlie assured him. “Want to see the stuff I got?”

Castiel nodded, avoiding Dean’s gaze as he walked over to the counter. Charlie pulled the lights out, one by one, from the first bag. They were all identical - a simple wrought iron base and cylinder shaped frosted glass enclosure around a lightbulb. They were classy, but old looking. If Dean were asked to describe them, he’d say “modern rustic.”

Surveying them, Castiel looked pleased. He picked one up, walking over to the wall and pressing it against the blue paint. “I think they look very nice. Well done,” he told Charlie, laying the light fixture back on the counter. “Do we have enough for the whole shop?”  
“I think so. I got all the ones they had,” Charlie said. “And there’s always the overhead lights.” Her eyes lit up as she pulled something out of the second bag. “Look, I found these too.”

The first was a sign made of dark wood that almost matched the floor. On it was written in simple gold script, “Life’s too short not to eat cake.” The second was nearly identical, only it was larger and said, “They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Screw the man; yours is more important.”

Dean couldn’t hold back a chuckle, but when he glanced up, Charlie was looking nervously at Castiel, who was frowning.

“Are you sure these would be appropriate for a professional place of business?” he asked.

“Yes,” Dean and Charlie said in unison. Castiel didn’t look convinced.

“Come on, man. The more comfortable people feel here, the more likely they’ll buy something,” Dean said persuasively. “These take away some of the uptightness you’ve got going here.”

A flash of irritation crossed Castiel’s face, and for a moment the man who had barged into the shop demanding everything be changed resurfaced. Dean had, for a brief while, thought that maybe Castiel wasn’t quite as bad as he seemed. Maybe he was wrong. “It is not uptightness, Dean, it is professionalism,” he snapped.

Dean felt anger rise in his chest. “Yeah, well professionalism isn’t why Mrs. Jones comes in for a cake every month because I told her that when it’s party day at the Children’s hospital, we’d give her ten percent off. Professionalism isn’t why Kevin comes in every Tuesday and Thursday to drink a large triple espresso and rant about his English professor. Professionalism isn’t what makes Robert stop in for a muffin at eight every morning when he’s out walking his dog.

“So, yeah, maybe we’re not professional for giving Mrs. Jones her discount, or chatting with Kevin, or letting Robert bring his fucking poodle into the store, but that’s why people come here instead of the Starbucks on every other street corner. The signs are funny, and I say they go up,” Dean concluded.

By the time he finished his rant, he was red faced and had taken a large step towards Castiel without realizing it. Both Castiel and Charlie were staring at him, shocked by the sudden outburst. Dean thought that maybe he should apologize, but he didn’t. Castiel wasn’t his boss.

Castiel squinted at Dean, studying him with unnerving intensity. “I didn’t realize you felt so strongly about this,” he said eventually. “We can hang the signs.”

“Thank you,” Dean said stiffly and without feeling. Castiel was still frowning, still looking confused and a little… off, somehow. Dean didn’t feel like he’d won.

“Okay,” Charlie said slowly. “So, uh, is there anything else you want me to look for, or are you good?”

Castiel shuffled away from Dean and around the back of the counter. “We’re good for now. Thank you.”

“Sure,” Charlie said cheerily. “Still on for movie night tonight, Dean?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Dean said distractedly, his heart still pounding from his sudden rant.

“Okay. See you.”

Neither Dean nor Castiel moved until Charlie had left. Dean was looking down at the floor when Castiel spoke, “Shall we move some of the tables and chairs back in here? We have some menu items and alterations to discuss.”

Dean didn’t miss the sudden business like tone in Castiel’s voice. “Yeah,” he agreed.

With Castiel’s help, the tables and chairs were quickly returned to the dining area. They didn’t look bad with the new decor, and Dean was hoping they could get away without replacing them. It would be nice to have at least something original around here.

As if reading his mind, Castiel surveyed the furniture with a critical eye. “I forgot to ask Charlie to look into new furniture as well. Perhaps that can be her mission tomorrow.”

A bit too quickly, Dean said, “Or we could, you know, just leave it. I think it looks good.”

Castiel looked over. “You do? Really?” he asked in a subtly disgusted sort of disbelief.

Feeling a little defensive about the attack to his design choices, Dean gave a little shrug, saying, “They were part of my Uncle Bobby’s contribution to the shop. I’d feel bad just tossing them out on the curb.”  
This caused Castiel to quiet. “I suppose we can talk about it later.”

Dean hoped that meant never. He pulled out a chair and sat down, waiting for Castiel to retrieve his notebook and join him. When he did, Dean made a point to act nonchalant.

“This is a list of the things you sell currently,” Castiel said, flipping open to a page. “Correct me if I’ve missed anything. Bread, cupcakes, cakes, pies, scones, danishes, muffins, bagels, and,” he squinted, “apple-pie cupcake turnover crossovers.” Castiel looked up. “Do those actually sell?”

“Yeah!” Dean replied defensively. “They’re my specialty and are freaking delicious, thank you very much.”  
Castiel grunted skeptically. “Perhaps one day I’ll try one.”  
Dean was oddly nervous all of a sudden that they’d disappoint, which was ridiculous, of course. His baking never disappointed. “Yeah, if you don’t chop them off the menu,” Dean muttered.

The look Castiel gave him was almost hurt, but quickly covered with blank, flat, business. “I believe I have learned my lesson about removing your… personal touches.”

“Oh?” Dean asked, arching an eyebrow as he looked around the shop, which was entirely redecorated. “Well, glad you’re on time for that revelation.”

Castiel frowned. “Are you not happy with how the shop looks now?”

“It was better before,” Dean said, although he wasn’t quite sure he believed that anymore.

“I disagree with you there, but I do apologize if you’re unhappy.”

Dean just shrugged. “I made my unhappiness known before we started. If it really meant that much, you would’ve listened to me then.”

Castiel looked down, and Dean had to remind himself that Castiel did deserve that. “So, the menu,” Castiel said eventually. “I was going to suggest switching the pies out for cookies.”

“Hell no,” Dean said without hesitation.

“But Dean-“

“No buts.” Dean was adamant about this. “Pies are staying.”  
Castiel sighed. “Cookies are individually sold, though. We can make much more profit from a batch of cookies, which are quicker to make as well, than we can from selling a whole pie. Cookies are impulse buys, but how many come in with the intention of purchasing a whole pie?”

“Enough,” Dean said. Castiel opened his mouth to argue some more, but Dean didn’t let him. “No, I’m not budging on this one. You take away my pies and I’m out. I’ll sell my half to you and walk away, because, hell, I hardly recognize the place as it is, but without pie? Not happening.”

For a moment, Dean thought Castiel was just going to tell him to go by the stony look on his face. After a minute, though, it softened. “Fine. We’ll keep the pies. I hope you don’t have an unhealthy attachment to scones?”

Dean hesitated. “Scones can go.” He didn’t tell Castiel that the reason he refused to discontinue pies were because they were his mother’s recipes. To think of how proud she would’ve been that her pies made it into an actual bakery only to have them dropped would be an insult to her memory.

“Scones for cookies, then,” Castiel said, penciling it in.

The rest of the meeting passed with minimal fuss. Dean had to answer annoying questions like how many napkins the shop went through on a regular basis, how much he paid for refills, and stuff like that which Dean never really cared about. Those details were definitely his least favorite part of the job, along with accounting.

Dean almost missed Bela sometimes, for she was ruthless in getting the best prices and, therefore, handled the books. Granted, the money she saved, she skimmed off for herself, but even so, it was one less job Dean had to do. Dean was there for the baking, not knowing the price of each individual napkin. To say it was a relief when Castiel finally closed his notebook with a thoughtful nod would be an understatement.

“We done with the interrogation?” Dean asked.

“Yes,” Castiel answered. “I’ll look into ways to cut back on costs,” he said, reaching down into his bag and pulling out his laptop.

“What, now?” Dean asked.

Castiel looked confused. “Why not?” he asked, then added quickly, “You don’t have to stay. I understand that you have other things planned this evening.”

Dean almost laughed. “Yeah, right.” He wasn’t as young as he used to be, and after Bela, his desire to go out and meet people had considerably diminished. Sure, he went to Sam’s on occasion, but more often than not, he was too tired from work to do anything other than go home and watch TV.

“Charlie said you were having a movie night,” Castiel pointed out.

Damn. Dean had forgotten about that. He didn’t know what possessed him - maybe the thought of Castiel sitting in an empty bakery on his computer as the sun went down - but he just shook his head, saying, “Something came up. She cancelled.” Under the table, Dean typed out a quick text to Charlie saying, have to cancel tonight, sorry. Tomorrow instead?

“That’s a shame,” Castiel commented.

Dean just shrugged. “It’s not like we can’t reschedule.”

“True.”

Looking at Castiel, there was the familiar war going on in Dean’s mind - one side chanting, He’s an asshole, and the other side reminding Dean just how cute and lonely Castiel looked just then, squinting down at his laptop screen. For once, Dean silenced the first voice rather than the second. “Look, man, I can’t just let you keep working all night long.” Castiel squinted at him, and Dean explained, “You’ve got to take some time to yourself. You work all the time and it’ll drive you nuts.”

“Dean, you work seven days a week,” Castiel pointed out.

“Yes, but never a minute over five o’clock,” Dean shot back.

Castiel frowned. “But the sooner we can get everything in place, the sooner we can re-open the store.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I get that, but knocking off now isn’t going to set that back by much, and you’ll be nice and rested in the morning.” An invitation balanced on the tip of Dean’s tongue, and he struggled silently with it for a minute. “Okay, listen. If you’re going to insist on doing business stuff, we should both be there, right? Share input and whatever?”

“That would be ideal, but I can’t force you to stay-“

“Let me finish,” Dean said, licking his lips nervously. It’s just a business thing, he tried to tell himself. “Why don’t we pick up some take out, and you can come to my place. I’ll watch that movie with or without Charlie, you can do your research and run anything by me if, you know, if you need to. Sure beats sitting in an empty bakery with no food.”

Castiel studied Dean in a nerve-wracking way. When his lips parted, Dean was afraid he was going to accuse Dean of crossing a line, or just flat out refuse. Instead, he said, “What movie?”

“Indiana Jones, Raiders of the Lost Ark,” Dean said with a grin.

Slowly, Castiel nodded. “I… I suppose that would be acceptable.”

“Great,” Dean said, standing up. His heart pounded in his chest, and he had no fucking idea what he was doing. Castiel was his partner, his boss as Charlie kept reminding him. He was a pushy, overbearing asshole who completely destroyed Dean’s shop, and yet Dean was having a hard time keeping that image of him as a villain. It couldn’t be just because of his unfairly good looks, but there was something else. Something else that, Dean thought, if he could just figure out what it was, everything would make sense. Regardless, Castiel just didn’t seem like the cut and dry enemy here, no matter how hard Dean tried to make him one.

Castiel gathered his things, then gestured to the door. “You first. I’ll lock the door.”

Dean nodded, leading the way outside and pausing as Castiel twisted the key in the lock. Then, he headed to his Impala, parked on the curb just in front of the store. Climbing in the passenger seat, Castiel commented, “You have a gorgeous car.”

“I know,” Dean said, grinning. “You know classic cars?”

Castiel gave a half shrug as Dean pulled out and looked out the window. “My older brother, Lucifer, was quite into classic cars. He would sometimes drag me along to car shows before he left, so I picked up a thing or two.”

Dean looked over as he drove. “You have a brother named Lucifer?”

When Castiel answered, he sounded tired, as if he had this conversation with everybody. “Yes. My family is, unfortunately in some cases, very religious. Lucifer, Raphael, Michael, Gabriel and I are very… appreciative,” he said sarcastically.

With a dry chuckle, Dean said, “Wow, that’s rough. Only Michael and Gabriel escaped, then, huh?”

“Yes, and they are quite proud of that fact.”

Dean smiled. “Eh, ‘Castiel’ isn’t nearly as bad as ‘Lucifer’.”

Castiel didn’t reply, just stared out the window.

“So, uh, are burgers okay?”

“Burgers are excellent,” Castiel replied with more enthusiasm than Dean would have expected from him.

Nodding, Dean turned at the next street over and pulled into the Roadhouse’s parking lot. “Do you want to stay here or come?” he asked.

“I’ll come,” Castiel said. “I have never been here before. Do they do take-out?”

Dean winked before he realized what he was doing, then covered it by turning away in the fading light and saying, “They do for me.”

The moment Dean stepped inside the door, Bobby spotted him from behind the bar, waving and calling, “Hey, boy!”

“Hey, old man,” Dean replied, sauntering up to the bar and perching on a stool. He waved at Jo as she wiped down a table and returned an armful of menus to the hostess stand.

Bobby’s eyes flickered to Castiel, who was standing awkwardly at Dean’s shoulder, and back. “You here for food or drinks?”

“Food,” Dean answered. “Two burgers for take-out, actually. And whatever kind of pie Ellen’s got baking.”

“You’re the baker, boy, you should be makin’ your own pies,” Bobby grumbled, but called Dean’s order back to the kitchen, adding, “And make it a rush!” He turned back to Dean, saying, “Well? You gonna introduce me to your friend or are you gonna keep bein’ a rude, unmannered idjit? I thought we taught you better ‘an that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said. “Bobby, this is Castiel, my new partner at the bakery. Cas, this is Bobby.”

Castiel offered his hand stiffly. “Nice to meet you. Dean has said good things about you.”

“Is that so?” Bobby asked, sending Dean a look. He was obviously pleased, though, and his eyes showed it.

“It seems we owe the new hardwood floors in the shop to you,” Castiel explained.   
“You’ll have to stop by and check them out,” Dean said.

Bobby nodded. “I can’t pass on them danishes; you know that. When do you open up again?”

Dean deferred to Castiel who said, “We are aiming for Sunday.”

“That quick? You boys don’t waste time,” Bobby commented, pouring a beer for a patron who waved at the end of the bar. When he came back, he grabbed the paper bag which had popped into the food window and handed it to Dean. “Enjoy,” he said. “And stop back soon, alright?”

“Hang on,” Dean said. “You must be getting senile; I haven’t paid yet.”

Bobby shooed him away, grousing, “My memory’s just fine, thank you very much. Now get out before I change my mind!”

Dean shook his head. “Your danishes are free when you stop, got that?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Dean shook his head, pushing his way out of the Roadhouse doors, and found Castiel watching him. “He cares about you,” Castiel commented.

“Bobby?” Dean asked. “Yeah, he’s practically a father to me. His wife, Ellen, made it her job to look after Sammy and I after my parents died, which makes Jo, the waitress, my annoying almost-sister.”

“They seem very nice,” Castiel commented.

Dean nodded, putting the car into gear. “Yeah, they look tough, but they’re all big softies.”

There was a silence. “And Sammy is… your brother?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Baby brother.”

“He is much younger, then?”

Dean laughed. “Well, no. I just call him that. Actually, he hates that I call him Sammy, too.” Castiel looked perplexed. “He’s four years younger than me,” Dean clarified, “and he’s like a sasquatch. The guy barely clears doorways, so it really pisses him off that I still call him Sammy.”

“Ah,” Castiel said, still sounding a little confused, but going with it. “I can see how that would be… belittling.”

Dean just shrugged. “He’s used to it.”

The rest of the car ride was quiet, with only Led Zeppelin’s IV to break the silence. Dean didn’t mind, for it wasn’t an uncomfortable sort of quiet, surprisingly. The smell of the burgers and fries from the bag in Castiel’s lap was getting distracting, though.

They pulled up in front of Dean’s apartment building, and he led the way in. They didn’t run into anyone on the three flights of stairs up to Dean’s apartment, and Dean paused before unlocking the door. “Uh, hope you’re not expecting anything super fancy.”

“Of course not,” Castiel said, and Dean almost felt offended. “I understand that you just went through a divorce,” Castiel added, probably after seeing the look on Dean’s face, “which would be a hard time for anyone. I assure you that I will not judge.”

Dean nodded. “Good.”

He pushed open the door and tried not to be embarrassed by the cardboard boxes he had stacked up against the one wall next to his TV. His couch was thankfully clear, and though his end tables were piled with odds and ends, they were still functional for cups or plates or whatnot. Dean headed straight for the kitchen, taking two plates down from the cupboard. Castiel unloaded the food as Dean opened the refrigerator. “Want a beer?” he offered out of politeness.

“Sure,” Castiel replied, surprising Dean.

Dean popped one open, then set it in front of him. He grabbed one of his own, then sat down at the table, unwrapping his burger. He took a bite, then looked up, realizing that Castiel was just sitting and frowning at his.

“What’s wrong? Dig in,” Dean advised.

Castiel looked up at Dean, then back at his food, finally unwrapping it and eating. He looked unsettled, but Dean didn’t know why. It was hard to form a coherent thought while taking a bite of juicy, cheesy perfec-

A goddamn near indecent moan broke the silence, and Dean froze, thinking that maybe it slipped from his own lips. Looking over at Castiel, though, with his eyes closed and his head tipped back so that the long, gorgeous curve of his neck was on display, Dean had to force himself to chew and swallow. That sound had come from him. From Dean’s uptight, stick-up-his-ass, bossy boss.

Castiel opened his eyes, and Dean immediately looked away, trying to cover the flush in his cheeks with a quick swig of beer. If this was the way the night was going to go, he was going to need more than just one.

“This burger is fantastic,” he said with the most enthusiasm Dean had ever heard from him.

Dean cleared his throat. “I’m, uh, I’m glad you like it. The Roadhouse serves good food.”

Castiel nodded, taking another bite. “I may have to begin to frequent it now that I know it’s there. Thank you for introducing me, Dean.”

“God, you need some alone time with that thing?” Dean asked, pulling one of Sam’s lines.

Castiel just ignored him and kept eating. Dean followed suit, and in ten minutes, both of them had finished everything except for the pie Dean had ordered. “If you thought that was good, you have to try Ellen’s pie. It’s almost as good as mine,” Dean said humbly. Pulling it out of the bag, however, he remembered that he’d only ordered one slice and felt a stab of guilt. He should’ve asked Castiel if he wanted some. He had no choice but to offer, “We can share.”

“If there’s one thing I learned today, Dean,” Castiel said with a bit of a wry smile, “it’s not to come between you and your pie.”

Dean smiled a little sheepishly. “True. But really, you have to try some. I don’t mind.” Dean was glad Sam wasn’t here. The teasing he would get for actually offering to share his pie with someone would be record breaking. But it wasn’t like Dean was offering because he liked Castiel, he just felt guilty that he didn’t get the guy a piece of his own.

When Castiel still hesitated, Dean pushed the container and a fork towards him insistently. Castiel took a tentative forkful of cherry pie and raised it to his lips. Dean swallowed hard, watching the way Castiel’s mouth closed around the fork a little too intently.

“It is very good,” Castiel said. “Although, I’ll confess, I’ve never tried your pie for comparison.”

Dean shrugged. “Maybe one day.” He took a bite of his own, then gestured for Castiel to eat some more. Going back and forth, they finished the pie in no time, and clean up only took a few minutes.

“So, uh, I’m sorry about my lack of furniture, but the couch is pretty comfy and next to an outlet,” Dean said, leading the way into the living room. “That is, if you’re still set on working. I certainly won’t hold you to it.”

“As tempting as the film might be, I do still intend on working,” Castiel said, bringing his bag over to the side of the couch. “If you don’t mind.”

“No, man, of course not.”

Dean slipped in the movie and let it start up as Castiel settled, sitting stiffly upright with his laptop on his knees. Dean was on the opposite side of the couch from him, an empty cushion between them. He couldn’t help but regret the space, especially when Castiel’s scent somehow managed to waft over the gap. He smelled sweeter than Dean would have expected, and, as a baker, it took mere seconds for Dean to pinpoint why it was such a familiar scent. Vanilla.  

For a little while, there was only the sound of the movie playing and Castiel’s occasional typing until Castiel said, “I don’t mean to interrupt, but do you like this design of business cards or this one better?” Castiel asked. Dean looked over at Castiel’s laptop, on which to pictures were displayed.

“Let me get a closer look,” Dean said, and, under the pretense of doing so, scooted much closer to Castiel. He studied the designs, then said, “That one.” He pointed to the bottom image, one of a light blue card with little clouds dotting the top edge. A BATCH MADE IN HEAVEN it proclaimed in pretty script, with the phone number and address underneath.

“I agree,” Castiel said. “Thank you.”

“Sure,” Dean replied. He knew he should probably move back to his own side of the couch, but his and Castiel’s arms were just barely touching, and Dean couldn’t bring himself to move apart. He was such a fucking loser.

After a little while of watching the movie, Dean suddenly realized that he hadn’t heard the click of Castiel typing or clicking the touchpad in a while. He looked over to find Castiel studying the TV like he had studied Dean earlier. Seeing his glance, Castiel immediately turned his attention back to the computer, as if he had gotten caught in some incriminating act. Dean almost laughed.

Another half hour passed until the same thing happened again. This time, when Castiel hurriedly returned his attention to his computer, Dean said, “You know, you can watch the movie. I won’t tell.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Castiel said quickly. “I was just…intrigued.”

Dean twisted a bit in his seat. “You mean you’ve never seen this before?”

“No.”

Staring at him as if he was from another planet, Dean replied, “You’re kidding.”

Castiel’s brows drew together. “I rarely ‘kid’.”

Dean drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Without a word, he reached out and shut the lid on Castiel’s computer.

“Dean-“

“No, Cas. This is a cinematic masterpiece, and you’re watching it. Work can wait. Everything waits for Harrison Ford.”

Castiel didn’t protest any more as Dean picked the laptop up and moved it to the floor. Dean settled back, this time with his arm blatantly pressing against Castiel’s. Neither of them pulled away. Dean filled Castiel in on what had happened so far, and he caught on pretty quickly. By the time the credits began to roll, Dean had glanced over several times to see Castiel entirely enraptured in the adventures of Indiana Jones. He fought a smile.

“Well, what’d you think?” Dean asked.

“It was… very interesting,” Castiel concluded. “It seems I have been introduced to two good things tonight.”  
Dean laughed. “Yeah, well, there are three more where that came from, if you liked it that much.”

Castiel nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

They sat in silence for a minute, until Castiel reached over and muted the credits rolling on the screen. He shifted so that he was facing Dean and said, “Dean?”

The tone of his voice said that some difficult question was about to follow. Dean swallowed nervously, shifting too so that he could look Castiel in the eye. “Yeah?”

“Why… why are you being so kind to me?” Castiel sounded hesitant, scared even, as if he was worried that Dean had some sort of ulterior motive.

Dean looked at him, trying to form an answer, which was hard with those blue eyes on him. “What do you mean? You call screaming at you earlier ‘nice’?”

Castiel frowned. “Well, no, but… it wasn’t until you did scream at me, as you say, that I realized just how… How much of a…” he struggled with the words.

“An ass?” Dean blurted.

“Yes, that,” Castiel answered, much to Dean’s surprise. “I was being an ass. I came into your shop and changed everything. You objected to it, and I ignored you. I used my share in the company to go right over you, and that was wrong of me. And then, despite it all, here you are, buying me burgers and inviting me to your house for a movie,” he said, confusion echoing in his voice. “I can’t figure out why.”

“The burgers were free,” was all Dean could think to say.

“That’s not the point, Dean.”

Dean sighed. “Okay, yeah, I’ll admit when you first walked in and started talking about changing stuff, I was pretty pissed. I thought you’d be one of those rich guys who’d come in and make everything the way you want it, regardless of everything else, then disappear to run it from afar. But then you painted. You helped me lay the floor, and I guess I just realized you weren’t quite as much of an asshole as I thought you were.” He shrugged. “I just get the feeling that there’s more to you than your commanding, my-way-or-the-highway act. And, I’ll admit, the store does look pretty good.”

Castiel nodded, accepting everything that Dean had said. There was a long, tense pause before he spoke again. “I’m sorry about the way I treated you. I regret it. And you’re right, there is a reason, but it still does not justify my behavior towards you. If I can make that up to you in any way, please let me know.”

Dean resisted the urge to reply, I know exactly how you can make it up to me. Instead, he said, “You can tell me the reason.” Castiel looked away, and Dean immediately retracted that. “I mean, only if you’re comfortable talking about it.”  
“Yes,” Castiel replied. “I’ll tell you.” He looked up at Dean, holding his gaze. “I’m sure you’re aware that my family is very wealthy?”

Dean nodded.

“Well, my siblings all went off to college to be doctors or lawyers, or bankers, and when it came to my turn, I said I wanted to be a baker,” Castiel said. He looked away, off at the credits which were still silently rolling in the background. “They laughed at me. They said that wasn’t a respectable profession, and it didn’t matter to them that I loved it. They said they would only finance my schooling if it was for something worthwhile.

“I ended up going for business,” Castiel continued, “But when the opportunity came up to buy half of your store, I jumped on it. I wanted to show them that I could have a nice, classy business which could thrive even while I was doing what I loved.” He hung his head. “I suppose I was a little too overzealous in trying to impress them. I’m sorry,” he said again.

“It’s okay,” Dean said, and he meant it. “Really. I get what it’s like to have the odds stacked against you. If Ellen and Bobby hadn’t taken a leap of faith and loaned me some startup money, I wouldn’t have a shop either. The difference here is that they supported me while your family were just jerks about it.”

Castiel didn’t dispute that. “Even so, I plan to make an effort to include you in all future business decisions. This is your shop too.” He paused. “And I’ll make an effort not to be an ass.”

Dean smiled. “Thanks.”

The smile Castiel gave Dean in return might have been one of the first genuine ones Dean had seen, and it disappeared all too quickly. Even so, Castiel seemed to relax ever so slightly, and to sink a little in the couch bringing him a fraction of an inch closer to Dean.

“And, Cas?” Dean added a half second later.

“Yes?”

“You want to impress your family?” Dean asked, raising a brow. “Well, we’re going to make this the best damn bakery there ever was.”

This time, Castiel’s smile lingered for a lot longer, and when Dean looked over a little later, Castiel didn’t seem so far away.

****  
  



	5. Chapter 5

  **  
**

When Dean walked into the shop on Saturday morning, he thought he was early. He wasn’t expecting the smell of freshly baked something wafting out of the kitchen and into the dining area. “Cas?” he called.

Castiel emerged from the kitchen, just into the doorway, and Dean’s heart skipped a beat. He looked absolutely adorable in a button down shirt rolled up to his elbows and jeans under an apron embroidered with tiny bumblebees along the bottom. He had a streak of flour through his hair and a smear of what looked like berry juice across the front of his apron. “Dean. Just in time. Will you come try one of these?”

Dean had to find his voice again. “One of what?” he asked, following Castiel into the kitchen without hesitation. All of the animosity he’d felt towards the guy had pretty much disappeared, leaving only attraction.

“The pie last night inspired me,” Castiel said, leading Dean over to a tray of mini pies, each one about the size of a cupcake. “I thought these would be good to sell individually rather than slices of real pie. But you can make full size pies too, of course; I won’t stop you.”

Castiel seemed looser than the day before, more at ease. His eyes were also bright as he stood proudly next to his creations, each crossed with tiny lattice tops. “Try one.”

Who was Dean to say no to pie? Dean took one and bit into it tentatively. It was still warm, and a rush of sweet and tangy berries assaulted his tastebuds. The crust was flaky and delicious, lending itself perfectly to offset the sweet berries. Dean actually moaned without thinking, then kicked himself, thinking about how Castiel had done the same the night before and how weird he’d thought it. He opened his eyes to find Castiel squinting at him in concentration, as if trying to decipher or memorize Dean’s reaction. Noticing him looking, Castiel quickly averted his gaze.

“Damn, Cas,” Dean said, popping the rest of the pie in his mouth. When he had swallowed, he said, “Did you bake your family any of those? ‘Cause I don’t see how they could possibly object to that.”

Castiel practically glowed at the compliment, and Dean found that happy was an expression that suited Castiel far more than serious and businesslike look of a few moments before. “They were happy to eat my creations, but they didn’t offer money for them.”

“Yeah, well, I ain’t paying you either,” Dean said. His gaze drifted down to the tray of pastries. “Though I might have to start…”

Pushing the tray towards him, Castiel said, “Go on. We can’t have day old pastries at our grand re-opening.”  
“Is that what we’re calling it?” Dean asked, taking another pie. It was just as good as the first.

Castiel gave a little shrug. “It doesn’t matter. We weren’t closed for very long; I doubt it will be a very big deal coming back.”

Dean nodded, finishing off the second pie. “So, what are you doing here so early?” When Dean had said goodbye to Castiel the night before, it had been with strict instructions to go home and sleep rather than work.

“I was having a hard time sleeping,” Castiel said with a shrug. “And when inspiration strikes…” he trailed off. “In addition, I figured we had better make our recipes uniform and decide whose to keep, whose to discard, and which to combine.”

That made sense. For consistency’s sake, they couldn’t have Dean baking by one set of recipes, but Castiel changing it up on days he baked. Still, Dean bristled a bit; Castiel’s pie was freaking delicious, but Dean would defend his mother’s to the death.

“Sure,” Dean said. “I’m willing to compromise on anything but the pie.” Castiel’s face fell a fraction, and Dean instantly felt bad. “I mean, your pie is great, don’t get me wrong,” he added quickly. “And if you want to make these mini things, go for it. It’s just, the real pies… they’re my mom’s recipes, and I guess I associate them with her.”

Castiel softened instantly. “Of course, Dean. You can be in charge of the pie section.”

Dean smiled. “I think I like that job.”

“Do you have your recipes written down?” Castiel asked. “We can compare.”

“Yeah, most of them. I’ll have to, uh…” Dean cast around the kitchen for the binder in which he kept them. He’d been baking repetitively for so long that he really didn’t need to refer to them any more, but he still had back ups just in case he woke up with, like, amnesia or something. Dean found the old binder under a stack of flattened pastry boxes and pulled it out. “Here we go.”

Castiel came around to Dean’s side as they stood at the kitchen counter. He opened his own notebook, and they began comparing recipes for cookies, cakes, and everything in between. If they decided to keep Castiel’s, they would rip it out of his notebook and clip it into Dean’s three ring binder, setting Dean’s in a separate pile. If they decided to combine one, Castiel would write it up in his beautiful cursive, then rip it out and stick it in. It was a good system until they reached the cupcakes.

“We should stick with basics, then rotate special flavors,” Castiel suggested.

“Sounds good,” Dean said. “So, chocolate and vanilla?”

Castiel nodded, reaching up to the top of his notebook to tear his chocolate cupcake recipe out.

“Woah, woah, woah. Who said we were taking yours?” Dean asked.

“Because mine is more sophisticated,” Castiel said. It was true, Castiel’s had ganache and some other fancy shit, but Dean knew better.

“Yeah, but mine’s better in its simplicity, trust me,” Dean said. “Besides, they’ll be quicker to make than all your fancy stuff.”  
Castiel scowled. “If you go too simple with an already simple cake, there will be no point in buying from us rather than making it at home.”

Dean laughed. “Cas, you’re just saying that because you’ve never tasted my cupcakes.”

“Yes, well, you have never tasted mine either,” Castiel replied stiffly.

Arching his brows, Dean said, “Was that a challenge?”

“Perhaps.” Castiel picked up his notebook and slid the binder towards Dean. “We each make a batch of cupcakes, then get an unbiased third party to taste test. Whichever they choose gets to stay. Deal?”

“Deal,” Dean agreed. “But where are we going to find this third party?”

Castiel glanced at the time. “In two hours, the electricians are coming to wire up those new lights that Charlie bought. Can you have yours done by then?”

“Of course,” Dean said. “Can you?”

“With time to spare.”

Dean grinned. “Prepare to lose.”

Castiel just gave him a superior, tight-lipped smile and got to work. They had to share space and supplies, but it wasn’t too bad. Dean would steal measuring cups from Cas only to turn around and find them gone. The same would happen in reverse, and it almost became a game to see how covertly they could snatch supplies and ingredients from one another.

As Dean was measuring out the flour to add to his vanilla and sugar mixture, he stole a glance at Castiel, whose back was turned as he hunched over a container of baking soda. Castiel’s shoulder shifted as he turned towards Dean to add the powder to his mixture, and Dean hurriedly whipped around, his face burning as he looked down at the flour in his hand. Flour. Right. He added it slowly, gently to the mixing bowl, careful not to dump in too much at once. Dean thought he could feel Castiel’s eyes boring holes into his back, but when he glanced over his shoulder, Castiel was engrossed in his own work.

A cloud of white came at Dean from the side. “Shit,” he coughed, slapping at the side of the mixer for the button to turn it off. He hit it and the machine stopped, allowing the cloud to dissipate, but the starchy smell of flour and sweet vanilla still lingered in the air.

“Everything okay?” Castiel asked worriedly, his voice bordering on the type of concern which might have him rushing to Dean’s aid, but he refrained.

“Just added the flour a bit too fast,” Dean muttered. “It’s all good.”  
Dean cleaned up, trying to get a handle on his embarrassment. That’s what he got for sneaking glances at Castiel. And, yet, he couldn’t escape the feeling yet again that Castiel was looking at him. For several agonizing moments, Dean was able to ignore the tingling feeling at the back of his neck, but then he couldn’t any longer. He figured one glance couldn’t hurt. Turning, Dean looked over his shoulder and met Castiel’s eyes. There was a sharp look to them. Disappointment or disgust, probably. The old embarrassment flared up again, and Dean could feel his face burning. He ducked his head before he decide whether he’d seen Castiel’s cheeks color as well or it had been his imagination. They went on working in silence.

“Do I smell coffee?” Castiel asked about halfway through.

“Yep,” Dean said proudly. “It’s my secret ingredient. Makes the cake nice and moist.”  
Castiel looked at him, frowned, then went back to work, redoubling his efforts. Dean grinned.

Dean was icing his cupcakes while Castiel was still painstakingly filling every single one.

“Done,” Dean said proudly, stepping back before his beautiful creations.

“Just because you finished first,” Castiel said slowly, his focus on his work, “doesn’t mean yours will taste better.”

Dean nodded. “You’re right. Mine will taste better because they’re just better to begin with.”  
“Right,” Castiel said.

Turning his attention to clean up, Dean passed the time as Castiel finally finished off his cupcakes. As if by some cue, there was a knock on the door just then. “That’s probably the electricians. Want to go let them in?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, and he could see the challenge in Castiel’s eye. “Let’s settle this.”

There were, conveniently, three workers. Castiel unlocked the door, inviting them in and saying, “Before you get started, we were hoping to ask a favor.”

“Do we get paid for this favor?” one of the guys asked.

Castiel nodded. “As far as I’m concerned, your clock started the minute you walked in.”

They looked satisfied by this, shrugged, and said, “Sure.”

Dean and Castiel shared a look, then hurried to the kitchen, emerging with three plates, each with two cupcakes. “We’d like for you to settle an argument, if you would,” Castiel said. “Please taste both of these cupcakes and decide which you like better.”

The one man grinned, his teeth showing behind his bushy brown beard. “We should take bakery jobs more often,” he muttered, picking up Castiel’s cupcake first.

The other two followed suit, taking huge bites of Castiel’s cupcake. They nodded appreciatively, but instead of putting it back on the plate half eaten like they did in cooking shows, they simply finished it off. “That one was good,” the one man commented. “Really good.”

“Yeah,” one of the others grunted. Castiel shot Dean a smug look.

The bearded one looked at the wrapper thoughtfully. “I don’t know, it was kind of too decadent for me. The filling was good, yes, but it was so sweet, and did it really need another layer of chocolate? I think it would’ve been great with something fresh and fruity, like raspberry preserves, to offset the richness of the chocolate.”

Everybody turned to look at him. “What?” he asked defensively. “My wife’s always on about those Chopped and Cupcake Wars and whatnot. She’s made a few things.”  
The other two guys shared grins, and it was obvious the bearded man would be teased later for that. Dean was oddly nervous as the guys picked up his. He had been confident a minute ago, but their reactions to Castiel’s were pretty favorable. Dean felt like he was on one of the shows the man had mentioned, standing in front of a panel of judges. In a way, he supposed he was, no matter how unconventional the judges happened to be.

“This one,” the guy in the middle said immediately. “It’s so moist, it just like melts in your mouth. The other one was kinda dense or somethin’.”

“I don’t know, I like the first one better,” the other man said. “It had filling. I vote that one.”

It all came down to the bearded man, the closet cupcake connoisseur. He tasted carefully, thinking for a long moment. “I’m gonna have to agree with Andy.” Dean looked at the other two. Which one was Andy? “I like this one better. It’s less rich, but still just as flavorful. Plus, it doesn’t send me into sugar shock just for taking a bite.”

Dean pumped the air. “Yes!” He shot Castiel a triumphant look, and Castiel responded with a grumpy glare.

“Yours was good too, mate,” the bearded man said comfortingly.

“Thank you,” Castiel said flatly. “We’ll let you get to work now. You’ll find the light fixtures over there,” he said, pointing. “Hang them where I’ve marked on the walls with tape. If you have any issues, Dean and I,” Castiel said pointedly, grabbing Dean by the arm, “will be in the kitchen.”

They nodded, and Castiel spun Dean around marching him to the kitchen.

“Aw, come on, Cas,” Dean said as they went. “Don’t tell me you’re a sore loser.”

“I’m not,” Castiel protested. “I just have to know what made your cupcakes so special.”

“Probably my magic hands,” Dean said, and since he was feeling extra cheeky, he added a wink. Castiel stared at him, and for a second, Dean thought he had gone too far. Then, the dark haired man just shook his head in exasperation and picked up one of Dean’s cupcakes.  “I’ll eat one of yours in solidarity,” Dean offered.

Castiel glared at him. “You say it like it’s a punishment.”

“Nah, the opposite, actually,” Dean said. “After all, since these aren’t gonna be sold, I’m one of the few who’ll ever get to eat one.”

“And you called me an ass,” Castiel muttered, unwrapping his cupcake carefully.

Dean grinned. Whatever had broken loose between them, Dean liked it. Things were easier now; he didn’t have to walk on eggshells and worry so much about being bossed around. It was nice, comfortable, even. Still, Dean knew that he had to get control of his attraction to Castiel; a relationship was out of the question. If something were to go wrong, he’d be stuck in the same situation as he had been with Bela, only this time, Dean knew neither of them would sell out. They were too stubborn.

“This…” Castiel began looking down at the cupcake which he had taken a bite out of while Dean was lost in thought. “This is very good. Coffee, you say?”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Dean grinned, taking a bite of Castiel’s. It was rich, definitely, but also decadently delicious. Dean could almost feel the sugar coursing through his veins, but he wanted more.

“I won’t,” Castiel replied. “Why would I give away the secret to making better cupcakes than mine?”

Dean arched a brow. “Oh, so you admit it?”

“Majority rules, Dean,” Castiel said, finishing off the cupcake. “A deal is a deal. We sell yours, and I can’t honestly say I’m disappointed by that. Although, the vanilla cupcakes are going by my recipe. You might say vanilla is my specialty.”

Dean’s responding smile was wide and bright. Even the corner of Castiel’s lips turned up, and Dean had the urge to kiss the look right off his face.

Castiel’s eyes flickered to Dean’s lips so fast that Dean wasn’t sure they even had before Castiel’s gaze settled on the side of his face. “You have some sugar right...there,” he said, wiping at the spot just in front of Dean’s ear with his thumb. The contact was quick and abrupt, and ended with Castiel looking down, his brows furrowed.

Coughing lightly, Dean cast around for something to say quickly. “So, does this mean I get to eat the rest of your cupcakes?” he asked.

“Did you like them?” Castiel replied, surprised.

Dean’s brows shot up. “Hell yeah! They’re great. I mean, just a hair under mine, but still great. Maybe they can be one of the rotating flavors. ‘Super fancy chocolate cupcakes’ or some shit.”

Castiel’s face softened. “Thank you, Dean.” He looked around at the kitchen. “Do you think we’ll be ready to open again tomorrow?”

Leaning his back against the metal countertop, Dean nodded. “Yeah. With the two of us working at it? No problem.”

“That’s good. I’ve already sent invitations for my family to stop by. Whether they will or not is still up in the air.”

“I hope they do,” Dean said. “We’re going to blow their socks off.”

Castiel frowned. “I never understood that expression. How could we blow their socks off without their shoes going first?”

Dean grinned at him. “Fine, then. We’ll blow their shoes off, and we’ll blow their socks off. There’ll be a ton of blowing going on.”

The innuendo seemed to go right over Castiel’s head. “Hopefully.”

“Come on, we should decide what we’re going to make tomorrow morning, then take inventory. Some of our stuff might have gone bad over the past few days,” Dean said. Castiel agreed, and they got started. The inventory didn’t take very long, but Dean kept finding things for them to do - things that didn’t need done immediately but were preferable to Castiel calling it a day and telling Dean to go home.

When eventually that time did come, it was almost evening.

“You should go home,” Castiel advised. “We have a big day tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “We’ll have to get here early to start baking if we want to be mostly stocked when we open at eight.”

Castiel frowned. “Right.” He paused. “At… at what time do you usually get here?”

Dean shrugged. “Three. Four. It depends,” he said. “The good thing about being local is that just about everyone knows me, knows the shop. They know I run it myself so they don’t get too fussed if I don’t have everything baked right at opening. Then when Charlie gets here, she holds down the fort while I bake.”

“Three,” Castiel breathed. “I would have to leave my house at two, get up at one…” he muttered to himself.

“Though, with the two of us working at it, it’ll probably go faster,” Dean mused. “What do you say to four?”

Castiel was still obviously not thrilled. “I suppose it’ll do.”

Dean felt a smile tug at his lips. “Not a morning person, then?”

“Not especially, no. I failed to consider that aspect when aiming to open a bakery,” Castiel admitted.

Laughing, Dean said, “Yeah, well, if we get successful enough, we can hire someone for early morning.”

“Let’s get successful then,” Castiel said seriously.

Dean smiled. “Well, I guess you should go home too, get some sleep.”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed.  Neither of them moved.

“You live far away?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded. “About an hour,” he said. “I’m aiming to move out once I’m established.”

Dean tilted his head, settling back against the counter again. “Move out? You still live with your family, then?”

“I suppose you could think of it that way,” Castiel said. “They hardly ever come into my wing, though.”

Letting out a low whistle, Dean fixed him with an impressed smirk. “Well. Who’d give that up?”

“Me.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Dean agreed. “Still, it’s a pretty good drive, though.”

“It is,” Castiel agreed. “I suppose I should leave. Make sure I get adequate rest.” He pushed away from the counter, standing stiffly near the doorway. “Well. Good afternoon, Dean.”

Dean wasn’t sure what possessed him to blurt, “Wait,” but he did. Castiel looked at him expectantly, and Dean wished he could reverse time. “Um. I just thought that, maybe, if you wanted, you could crash at my place. It’d save you the drive, and we’re going to the same place in the morning. I mean, I don’t have a spare room, but I’ve got an air mattress or I could take the couch-“ he rambled.

“Dean.”

“It’s not much, I know, but at least you wouldn’t have to get up so early. Though - shit - you won’t have a change of clothes or anything, sorry, it was stupid of me to offer. I’ll just let you-“

“Dean,” Castiel interrupted again, looking amused. Dean stopped, his face flushing red. Castiel’s voice was gentle when he said, “That’s very kind of you to offer, Dean, but my extra sleep isn’t worth inconveniencing you.”

Dean went for a casual shrug, trying not to betray the fact that he, oddly, didn’t want to say goodbye to Castiel just yet. “It’s not an inconvenience. It’s not like I wouldn’t be doing the same stuff with or without you there.”

Castiel looked torn. “If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure,” Dean said. “It’s just one night, man, because tomorrow we re-open. Once things are normal, I can come in and get an early start myself and you can join me whenever you get in.”

Slowly, Castiel nodded. “Thank you, Dean. I do appreciate it. I got very little sleep last night as it was,” he said, running a hand through his hair. He did look tired, very much so. “Although I certainly can’t have you taking the couch. I’ll be fine there.”

“It’s no trouble-“

“Dean. You’ve done enough,” Castiel said, his voice more gentle than Dean had ever heard it. Sometime during their conversation, Castiel had come closer, and now his arm was resting lightly at Dean’s elbow. Castiel’s face was altogether too close for comfort, and when Dean’s eyes accidentally flickered towards Castiel’s lips, Dean could see him tracing the movement. Dean expected Castiel to move back, to restore his personal space, but he didn’t. Cheeks coloring, Dean looked down abashedly, berating himself for coming off as so over eager, and for making things awkward as usual. “Thank you.”  
Dean just nodded and grabbed his jacket and keys. “Well, uh. Let’s go, then?”

“Let’s go.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

“So, um,” Dean said, surveying his cupboard. “I have spaghetti, macaroni and cheese, Ramen noodles…”

“So basically pasta,” Castiel said, sounding amused, “in various forms.”

Dean flushed. “Yeah, basically.” He kicked himself for not stocking his kitchen. “Or we could order pizza or Chinese or something,” he said. “Whatever you want.”

“Anything you have is fine,” Castiel said. “Whatever is convenient.”

Shrugging, Dean snatched the box of spaghetti off of the shelf and grabbed a can of pre-made sauce. “Sorry, I’m not as good at cooking as I am at baking,” Dean said apologetically. “But if this ends up a total disaster, we can always just eat those leftover cupcakes for dinner,” he said with a wry smile.

“You mean like we did for lunch?” Castiel asked.

Dean laughed. “Yeah. We’ve been healthy today, haven’t we?”

“Very.”

“Sam would probably faint if I told him how many cupcakes I ate today. And those pies, oh God, the pies.”

Castiel laughed, and it brought Dean up short. It was the first time he’d heard that deep chuckle and seen Castiel smile, scrunching up his nose in a frankly adorable way. Clearing his throat, Dean forced himself back to work. “You speak of Sam very fondly. I take it you two are close?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied, turning his back to Castiel as he set a pot on the stove. “I practically raised the kid, you know? At least until Bobby and Ellen came around; everything was easier after that. But I always felt like he was my responsibility. God, I’m proud of that kid.”

“He’s doing well, then?”

Dean grinned, glancing over at Castiel. “Yeah, he’s doing awesome. Got a full scholarship to Stanford, got his law degree, and now he has a gorgeous girlfriend who is way out of his league.”

Castiel cracked a small smile. “I hope to meet him one day. He sounds like a good man.”

“If he comes through, you ought to meet him tomorrow,” Dean said. “For all the shit he gives me about eating healthy, that guy lives off of caffeine and, like, fifteen sugars. He stops in for coffee when he’s frustrated about a case and usually he’s too focused to even complain when I push a scone or something on him too.”

Dean paused as he stirred the sauce, realizing how much he had just volunteered. He never talked that much, especially to people he barely knew. Of course, it was more about Sammy than himself, but even so. It was weird, for him. Something about Castiel, though… for as awkward and stiff as he was, he had a way of making Dean feel comfortable.

The pasta was unremarkable. Dean had some toast to go with it, but no garlic salt. He felt bad for the subpar meal, but Castiel didn’t seem to mind. He ate his entire bowl, then offered to do dishes.

“Nah, man, I’ll just stack them in the dishwasher,” Dean said, getting up to do just that. “Speaking of washing things, you want me to toss your clothes in the wash so that they’ll be fresh in the morning?” Dean wouldn’t have bothered if it were him, but he didn’t want to suggest wearing the same clothes two days in a row just in case Castiel thought that was gross or something.

“That would be good, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Sure,” Dean said. “So long as you don’t mind wearing some of my clothes in the meantime. I’ll scrounge up a t-shirt and sweats or something, if that’s okay with you. I mean, not that you have much of a choice; it’s that or nothing.” Dean was rambling again.  
“Hm, if those are my choices, I’ll go with nothing,” Castiel deadpanned, and Dean stopped what he was doing to look at him, unable to ignore the hot feeling pooling in his stomach.

“Um.”

Castiel frowned. “I’m sorry. I was attempting to make a joke.”

Dean blinked, then burst out laughing. “It was a good one,” he assured Castiel with a grin. Yeah, some joke. “I just wasn’t expecting it. You told me you didn’t joke.”

“I rarely do,” Castiel said. He tilted his head contemplatively. “Primarily for this reason.”

Dean laughed again. “Nah, man, you’ve just got to work on your delivery.”

“Thank you, Dean, I’ll try that,” Castiel replied, even though Dean hadn’t given him any actual advice to try.

Still chuckling, Dean clapped Castiel on the shoulder as he walked by. “You’re something else, man.” Castiel didn’t follow when Dean headed to his room, retrieving his best pair of clean sweats and one of his old, but soft, AC/DC t-shirts. Castiel accepted them, then went to the bathroom to change and shower.

When Castiel emerged, Dean had to forcefully remind himself that he was not allowed to be in a relationship with his boss. Still, the heat pooling low in his stomach didn’t seem to get the message. Castiel stood in the doorway, offering his bundle of clothes. It took Dean a minute to remember he was supposed to accept them. He was far too distracted by the way the t-shirt’s collar dipped low, revealing sharp collar bones or by the wet, disheveled spikes of Castiel’s hair. His attention was drawn away by the sweatpants which hung off Castiel’s slender hips and goddamn near indecent hipbones. Dean was a little larger than Castiel, so the clothes were loose fitting. Dean didn’t regret it.

Castiel was still offering the clothes. “Or, um, would you like me to put them somewhere…?”

Snapping back to focus, Dean hurriedly took them from Castiel, saying, “Oh, no, I’ll take them. I’m just gonna throw these in; I’ll be right back.”

The moment Dean entered the tiny little room in which his washer and dryer sat, he pressed his back to the wall and let out a pent up breath. How was he supposed to stand working with Castiel?

Dean chuckled dryly as he threw the clothes into the washer and slammed the door. A few days ago, he’d been asking himself the exact same question, only in a completely different way. He wondered which was worse.

When Dean returned, Castiel was standing by one of Dean’s bookshelves, looking a picture which Dean had framed and sitting in a spot of honor. “Is this your family?” Castiel asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Dean replied.

“Your mother was beautiful.”

Dean smiled sadly. “I know.” He glanced at the time. “You know, it’s only six. That’s pretty early for sleeping. Want me to introduce you to another Indiana Jones?”

Castiel met Dean’s eyes, and the smile was in them rather than his lips. “I’d like that, Dean.”

Castiel settled on the couch while Dean slipped in the movie. When Dean went to sit down, he noticed that Castiel had taken the seat right in the middle. Dean wondered if he had chosen that spot intentionally, but the blank look of innocence on Castiel’s face made him doubt. The couch wasn’t large, and Dean had no choice but to choose a side and squeeze in. If he enjoyed that a little more then he should have, well, who was going to know?

About a half hour in, Dean felt a heavy weight on his shoulder. He froze, stiffening and looking down at where Castiel had rested his head. His eyes were closed, and his breath came evenly, puffing gently against Dean’s neck. Unsure of what to do in a situation like this, he let the movie play, thinking that maybe Castiel would wake up, realize what he’d done and jerk away. He must not have been lying about not getting any sleep the night before, for he didn’t move for the rest of the movie.

Towards the end, it became clear that Castiel wasn’t about to wake up, and Dean took a chance, sliding an arm back behind Castiel, just to make the position more comfortable. That was all. It wasn’t so that he could gently rest his hand on Castiel’s shoulder or lean into him a bit. It wasn’t to make Castiel settle in a little closer, a hand closing around Dean’s t-shirt in his sleep. It was just for comfort.

When at last the credits started rolling, Dean reached over to turn them off, glad that the remote was on his arm of the couch. Then, he looked down at Castiel, who was asleep, peacefully, soundly, and adorably. He remembered what Castiel had said about not letting Dean take the couch, but there was no way in hell Dean was going to leave Castiel out on this too-short, lumpy sofa.

Sliding one arm under Castiel’s knees and the other around his shoulder, Dean lifted him up, surprised by how much he weighed. Dean guessed he was a runner, so much of it was probably lean muscle. He tried not to think about it.   
Dean gently carried Castiel to his room and set him carefully on the bed. Just as Dean was grabbing the sheets to pull them up, however, Castiel’s hand closed around Dean’s arm, and he looked up at him sleepily. “Dean. I can’t take your bed.”

“I’m fine on the couch, really,” Dean said sincerely, flicking the covers up to Castiel’s chest. “Sleep well.”

Castiel didn’t let go of Dean’s arm, though. “Dean,” he said.

“Really, Cas, it’s-“

“Stay,” Castiel mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow. Still, there was no doubting what Dean heard, and it made his heart beat quickly in his chest. He shouldn’t, and he knew he shouldn’t - it was too much like taking advantage of Castiel. Even so, Dean didn’t have that kind of willpower. He pulled back the covers on the other side of the bed, slipped in, and stayed.

When Dean woke, it was to a warm weight pressed against his side. Dean found his arms were wrapped around the warm body, and without thinking, he pulled a little closer. The other man didn’t resist, but in fact snuggled closer himself.

Then, Dean’s eyes snapped open. There was a head of unruly black hair in front of him, and Dean knew just who it was attached to. Castiel. Dean was snuggling with Castiel. Immediately, Dean let go, not because he wanted to, but because if Castiel woke up and found them like that, there was no way he’d ever be able to look him in the eye again. It was bad enough that they were sharing a bed, but cuddling? Hell, no.

“Dean?” Castiel mumbled, rolling over. He looked blearily up at Dean, and Dean bit back a curse. He hadn’t been fast enough. “It’s only two; I thought we didn’t have to be up until three.”

Dean’s heart was pounding, and he wondered if Castiel could feel it. How was he being so casual about this? “Uh, yeah. Yeah, we don’t.”

“Then go back to sleep,” Castiel muttered.

Stiffly, Dean lay back down, resisting when Castiel tried to curl into his side. Even in his half-awake state, Castiel must have noticed Dean’s hesitation. He propped himself up on an elbow and squinted at Dean. “Unless… unless this is not what you want? I just woke up earlier and you were- I assumed-“

“I’m sorry about that,” Dean said immediately, flushing with embarrassment. He wondered if the ground would be kind enough to open up a Dean-sized hole. “I didn’t mean to- I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” Castiel assured him. “Not at all. I just thought… Never mind. Goodnight, Dean. Or good morning, I should say.”

Castiel rolled over, keeping himself strictly on the other side of the bed. The six inches between them seemed like a mile, and Dean couldn’t help but miss the warm weight of Castiel against him.

Dean knew there was a cliff in front of him, metaphorically speaking. Just now, just that night, Dean had stepped to the edge, put a toe out into the open air. He knew that if he said what he wanted to, what was on the tip of his tongue, he’d be taking the full leap, and he’d either land softly at the bottom, or lose everything. There was no pulling himself back up.

Dean knew he was slipping. He could feel himself losing it. He figured he might as well jump.

“Cas?” he asked softly. Immediately, he prayed that Castiel wasn’t awake so that he could back out. No such luck.

“Yes?”

“When you said that you really didn’t mind… what did you mean?” Dean asked. He held his breath.

Castiel turned back over, and Dean felt those blue eyes on him, intense even in their sleepiness. “I meant that I was rather enjoying it,” Castiel said slowly.

Dean licked his lips. “So, uh, if I were to suggest making this relationship no longer quite so… business like… you’d be into that?”  
Castiel stared at him, and Dean was afraid he said the wrong thing. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Castiel’s eyes, so he suddenly found the pillow very interesting. “If that’s what you want, I would be very ‘into that’ as you say.”

There was a tense pause where Dean was trying to process what Castiel had just said. He was so ready for rejection that he had to re-evaluate everything. “Really?” Dean breathed.

The brightest, widest smile that Dean had ever seen on Castiel spread across his face. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to Dean’s, and it only took Dean a half a second to get it together and return the kiss. Castiel’s lips were chapped, but soft, and Dean could’ve kept kissing him all day and been happy. Unfortunately, Castiel had different plans.

“Dean,” Castiel said, breaking off the kiss. “As much as I am in favor of this new development,” he said, stealing another kiss which Dean tried to deepen, but was pushed away. “it’s two o’clock in the morning.” Another kiss. “And we have to be up in an hour.”

Dean laughed. He felt giddy and awake, but he knew Castiel had a point. They could always continue this in the morning. They had all the time in the world now. Dean smiled, pulling Castiel closer, fitting him into his side. “Go to sleep. We’ve got baking to do tomorrow.”

Castiel groaned.

“Hey, it’ll be way more fun now,” Dean said. He didn’t get a reply. When he looked down, Castiel was already asleep. Dean smiled, thinking the cliff hadn’t been that high after all.

 


	7. Chapter 7

With the morning came Dean’s old worries. He and Castiel had spoken half awake; what if Castiel changed his mind? What if he didn’t mean the things he’d said, or he wanted to back out? What would happen to the business?

“Dean?” Castiel asked, rolling over. “Are you going to turn that off?”

“What? Oh, yeah.” Dean hadn’t even heard the alarm, he was so lost in his thoughts, but he hit the button now and it quieted.

There was a moment of silence. “I guess that means we have to get up,” Castiel said, sounding like it was some new and horrible form of torture.

“Yeah, that’s what that means.”

“Do you have coffee?” Castiel asked, his eyes bright with urgency.

Dean laughed. “Yeah, Cas. I’ll go put some on.”

On the way to the kitchen, Dean’s frown deepened. What if he’s made the wrong decision? There was a reason that Bela had left him; what if Castiel realizes that Dean is… boring? All he does is go to work, then go home and watch TV or order take out. He has no life, hardly any friends, and nothing interesting to speak of. It wouldn’t be long before Castiel got bored, he was sure.

Just as the machine started to brew, Castiel came padding into the room. “Good morning, Dean.”

“Morning, Cas,” Dean said, trying to silence the feeling in his gut that wanted to call everything off. “How’d you sleep?”

Castiel gave a small smile. “Very good, except for a small disturbance about an hour ago.”

Dean grinned. “Funny, same thing happened to me.”

The coffee machine gurgled, and Dean watched as enough coffee to fill a cup slowly trickled out into the pot. He pulled it out, poured it into a mug and handed it to Cas. He’d wait for his own. “Thank you.”

There was a long silence, then Dean blurted, “Cas? What if we’re… What if we’re not doing the right thing?”

Castiel frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Dean ran a hand through his sleep-messed hair. “I like you. I really, really do, but what happens if things don’t work out between us? What happens to the shop? I… I just…”

“Dean,” Castiel said firmly. “Are you really going to give up what you want just because you’re afraid of what might happen?”

“But you’re not gonna like me, Cas,” Dean said with an unfortunate degree of certainty. “You may now, but you don’t know me. It’s gonna happen, Cas, I know it, and then we’re going to be stuck.”

Castiel frowned. “That’s true,” he said, surprising Dean. “But you also know nothing about me. You might come to hate me too. But I’m willing to take that risk because even that would be better than forever wondering what might have happened if we’d have had the courage to keep going. Are you willing to take that risk too?”

Dean stared at him. He stared at the man who’d come barging into his life a few days ago, then settled into a spot. He stared at his blue eyes, his adorable sleep matted hair, and his unshaven chin. He didn’t want to give him up even though he was terrified. “Yeah. Yeah,” he repeated.

“Good,” Castiel said. “Because I’d hate for this to be over before it really began,” he said, raising a brow. It didn’t sound like an innuendo at first, but the look in Castiel’s eye made it one. Dean swallowed hard. “But for now,” Castiel said, laying his already empty coffee cup on the counter, “we have a shop to open and people to impress.”

“Let’s get at it, then,” Dean said, smiling and stepping closer to Castiel. “And, you know, it’s going to be a long day. You might be too tired to drive home.”  
“Hmm,” Castiel agreed, “I might.”

Dean grinned.

It was easy working with Castiel. They moved around each other like a dance, mixing bowls and trays of pastries lifted up high while the other smoothly ducked beneath. It was actually fun for Dean, baking and occasionally receiving small, gentle touches here and there. Dean was mixing up icing for a batch of honey cupcakes when he felt a warm hand press at the small of his back.

“Hey,” Castiel said.

“Hey,” Dean replied evenly, unable to keep the smile from his face.

“We’re a few minutes from opening. You want to come out, or are you going to stay and bake? Or do you want me to stay and bake?” Castiel frowned. “I don’t know quite how you normally run this.”

Dean detected a note of nervousness in Castiel’s voice and set aside the icing, turning so that he could wrap his hands around Castiel’s arms. “I’ll open with you. We can trade off back here.” He paused. “It’s going to be okay, you know. Your family is going to be so impressed.”

“You don’t know them, Dean,” Castiel said, looking away. “I haven’t seen them impressed by anything I’ve done since high school.”

Lightly, Dean pecked him on the lips, then dropped his arms. “Come on. Help me ice these and get them in the case, then we’ll get ready to open.”

Castiel obliged and in only a few minutes they were transferring the golden cupcakes into the display case. Dean carefully turned each one so that the little sugar bees on them faced the front. He noticed Castiel’s small, contented smile, and knew he’d chosen correctly for the first flavor of the day.

Dean and Castiel hung their aprons in the kitchen, then went about wiping the place down one more time. A few minutes from opening, Castiel moved behind the counter, smoothing his button down shirt in an attempt to look put together and professional. Dean just thought he looked hot. Half wishing that he’d worn something a little nicer than a slightly faded Aerosmith T-shirt, Dean took his place next to Castiel.

Still, if there was something he refused to compromise on, it was his dress. This was still a little local bakery, and Dean was still going to be casual and comfortable about it. No way in hell was he wearing some starched button ups or jackets or something. Luckily, Castiel didn’t even try and make him.

“Two minutes,” Castiel said, his hands gripping the edge of the new dark wooden counter like a lifeline. “Why am I so nervous?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “You have no reason to be. Everything will be fine.”  
“So you keep saying.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s true.”

They stood there silently for a moment. “One minute,” Castiel said.

“Do you want to flip the sign, or want me to?”

“You can,” Castiel said.

Figuring thirty seconds wouldn’t hurt, Dean stalked to the window and flipped the sign from Closed to Open. “Well, there it is.”  
On his way back behind the counter, Dean gave Castiel a reassuring smile. The bell chimed as the door opened behind him, and Dean turned saying, “Welcome to A Batch Made in Heaven! You’re the first customer to be in our newly remodeled shop.”

The woman, whom Dean didn’t recognize, looked around, surveying the place. “Is that so? Well, it looks great. Has the menu changed?”

“Not very much,” Castiel answered. “If anything, it’s only gotten better.”  
She smiled, saying, “I’ll take a dozen cookies, please. Any kind.”  
Castiel handled her, and Dean watched from the other end of the counter. He couldn’t help but admire Castiel’s long, thin fingers as he delicately plucked cookie after cookie from the display case. Dean swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry when he thought of what else Castiel might do with those slender, gorgeous fingers. He turned away before it got embarrassing.

Their first customer went away happy, as did their, second, third, fourth, and on. Sam wandered in around lunch time, Jess right behind him.

“Sam!” Dean greeted, just finishing up an order. He thrust the pastry box at the customer and smiled, saying, “Have a nice day” before turning his attention to his brother, now alone in the shop. “Hey, Jess,” Dean added, giving her a smile.

“The shop looks great, Dean,” Sam said.

“It really does,” Jess agreed. “I know you were complaining about all the changes, but it really works.”

Dean blushed a little, for he felt Castiel come up behind him just then. “Nah, I was just being stubborn. I like the changes too,” he said, mostly for Castiel’s benefit. “Guys, uh, this is Castiel. My, um, partner, I guess.” In more ways than one.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Castiel said, offering his hand. “Dean speaks only highly of the both of you.”

Sam smiled, and Dean knew he was thinking something snide about how Dean talked the opposite way about Castiel. “Nice to meet you, too,” Sam said, then Jess.

“So, what can we get you two?” Dean asked. “You are eating something, right? You’re not on one of those ridiculous health kicks again?”

“He’s always on a ridiculous health kick,” Jess said, rolling her eyes. “But I’m certainly having something. A cupcake sounds good.”

“Which one?” Dean asked. They currently had chocolate, vanilla and honey.

“The chocolate’s tempting because I know yours are to die for,” Jess mused, and Dean shot Castiel a triumphant look which was returned with a glare, “but I think I’ll go for a honey. They’re so cute.”

Dean smiled, pulling the cupcake out and handing it to her. “On the house,” he said. Jess went to protest, but Dean held up a hand. “Opening day special. I insist.”

Jess looked to Castiel who didn’t comment. Dean knew Castiel wasn’t in it for the money, so he didn’t figure he’d mind. If he did, Dean resolved to pay for it himself. “Sam?” Dean asked. “Anything for you? Other than coffee, of course.” He was already pouring it.

“Uh,” Sam considered the case. “Yeah, I’ll have one of those mini pie things.”

Dean grinned. “You’re gonna love it. One of Cas’s creations.”

Sam raised a brow and looked between them. He was probably confused about Dean’s change in attitude towards Cas, but Dean didn’t attempt to explain. That wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have just then.

More customers came in and Dean and Castiel got distracted. It was around lunchtime, and there was certainly a rush for pastries. Charlie arrived to help around noon, bringing lunch for them, and it was a welcome reprieve. Dean and Castiel ducked into the back to eat quickly and take a break from the constant smiling and dealing with people.

“How do you think it’s going?” Dean asked.

“Well,” Castiel said, then frowned. “My family still hasn’t shown up.”

“They’ll come,” Dean assured him. “Don’t worry. We’ve still got the rest of the day.”

Castiel still looked troubled, but nodded. When they’d finished eating, Dean sent Castiel back out to the front and he himself stayed in the back to do some more baking.

A batch of cookies and halfway into a batch of bread later, Charlie came walking into the kitchen, leaning casually against one of the counters. “I think Cas is in distress. You might want to go help him.”

Dean looked up quickly. “Yeah, of course. Can you finish this?”

“Uh-“

“It’s easy, just knead it, make it into some loaves and stick them in the oven. The time’s on that sheet,” he said, pointing. “Thanks, Charlie,” he said before she could protest.

Dean hurried to the front, wiping his floured hands on his apron and not even bothering to take it off. Castiel was standing at the counter, a severe looking woman in front of him, as well as two men, one looking serious with dark black hair and the other on the verge of laughter. A few people were eating at the tables, but there was thankfully no one else in line.

“Dean,” Castiel said, relief in his voice as Dean approached the counter. “Mother, this is my partner, Dean. Dean, this is Naomi, my mother, and my brothers Gabriel and Michael.”

“Pleasure,” Dean said, shaking everyone’s hand. Naomi and Michael didn’t seem to care much about him, but Gabriel’s eyes twinkled with something like mischief when he shook Dean’s hand.

“So, Cassie, you sell candy here? Like bonbons or something?”

“We do,” Dean answered for Castiel, gesturing to the small case on the counter. Gabriel nodded appreciatively and let his attention wander to the round display.

“Is this business profitable?” Naomi asked, looking around the place with scrutiny. Her eyes landed on the signs, and she looked away with an expression of distaste.  

“Yes,” Castiel answered. “Very much so.”

Naomi’s eyes narrowed. “How much have you made today?”

Castiel glanced at Dean, then replied, “I believe that’s improper to discuss. Can I get you something?”

Dean eyed them, wondering how anyone could act so unfavorably towards Castiel when it was clear he was doing what he loved and was good at.

“I’ll take one of what you consider to be your best,” Naomi said, “but nothing too sugary.”

“Michael?” Castiel asked.

“Nothing for me,” Michael replied.

Castiel nodded, then handed a cheese danish over to his mother. She paid for it, and Castiel didn’t offer to let her have it for free. Dean didn’t blame him. Dean could see how tense Castiel was as his mother took a bite. She looked thoughtful as she swallowed, then said, “This is good.” Some of the tension drained from Castiel’s shoulders only to be replaced by defeat when she added, “But I still disapprove of it as a living. I still think you ought to reconsider. Good afternoon, Castiel.” Without another word, she turned and walked out, Michael on her heels.

Castiel stared after her, and Dean gave him a pitying look, touching him gently on the elbow. “Hey, they don’t matter, okay? You’re doing what you love.”

Dean got no response from Castiel other than a look of dejection which damn near broke his heart.

“I’ll take a dozen of these,” Gabriel spoke up from the counter. He was already munching on a truffle.

Both Dean and Castiel looked over sharply, having forgotten that he was there.

“What? Who cares what those dicks say, this shit is delicious. I approve. I definitely approve. I’ll be in here every other day if you don’t stop me.”

That caused Castiel to soften a bit, saying, “Thank you, Gabriel.”

“We won’t stop you,” Dean assured him. “What kind of business would we be if we did that?”

“Point,” Gabriel conceded as Castiel packed up his candies. “I like the pun in the name, by the way,” he said, jerking a thumb towards the little stack of business cards. “It made me give a light and refreshing chuckle, although...” Gabriel’s head tilted slightly as he raised a brow. “This might be even more refreshing.”

Dean followed Gabriel’s gaze to the nonexistent space between him and Castiel, where he could feel the warmth of Castiel’s arm against his own. He blushed and pulled away an inch or two. Castiel thrust a box at Gabriel, glaring.

“I’ll work on them,” Gabriel promised, accepting the box of sweets. “But if not, who really cares? The store looks great, you’ve got great food, and your, ahem, partner’s quite the looker,” he told Castiel in a stage whisper. Dean wasn’t sure whether to glare or blush again. “You’re doing great, Cassie. Keep it up.”

After a brief hesitation, Castiel smiled at that - really, genuinely smiled. “Thank you, Gabriel. You’re my favorite brother for a reason.”

Dean decided that, of those he had met in Castiel’s family, he liked Gabriel the best too. Other than Castiel himself, of course.

Gabriel winked. “And don’t I know it. See you…” he counted his candies, “probably tomorrow. Maybe later today.”

Shaking his head as Gabriel exited, Castiel explained, “He has quite the sweet tooth.”

“I can tell,” Dean said. There was still no one at the counter, and those who sat eating weren’t paying attention to them. Dean slipped a hand around Castiel’s back, low and subtle. “Hey, you okay?”

After a beat, Castiel nodded. “I didn’t expect anything less. It’s fine.”

“Maybe they’ll come around,” Dean said.

“Maybe,” Castiel agreed, though he didn’t sound particularly hopeful.

“In the meantime, though,” Dean said, looking around their store, “we’ve got a kick ass shop.”

Castiel smiled. “Yes, we do.”

The rest of the day passed quickly and when at last they were cleaning up and closing for the night, Dean and Castiel were tired. Dean cleared out the cash register, moving the money to the safe. He found Castiel washing dishes in the sink and wound his arms around his waist from behind. Castiel jumped a little, then calmed, leaning into the touch.

“Hello, Dean.”  
“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, grabbing a towel and helping him dry. They finished quickly, and then Dean glanced over at Castiel. “So, it’s pretty late.”

“It is,” Castiel agreed. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. He shifted. “You probably don’t want to drive all the way home, huh?”

“Not particularly,” Castiel admitted.

Dean smiled. “Does another night at my place sound like torture?”

With a slight, wry smile, Castiel replied, “A little, but I suppose I can endure it.”  
Laughing, Dean grabbed his things. “Come on,” he said, his excitement giving him energy.

Castiel followed Dean outside, waiting as Dean locked up. As they headed to the Impala, Dean glanced back at the large blue letters which spelled out “A Batch Made in Heaven.” He smiled. Despite the changes, this was still his shop. It was his shop, only now, it was Castiel’s too, and the thought wasn’t nearly as abhorrent as before. In fact, he was more excited than anything to see what the future would bring. He had a feeling it would be wonderful.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean stirred a level spoonful of vanilla sugar into the cup of coffee he was making for Castiel, then hesitated briefly before adding a bit more. Sure, the vanilla he had insisted they special order was expensive, but after all it was a special day.

“Dean?” Castiel asked, coming into the kitchen of Dean’s apartment, which was now officially his too.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, looking up from making his own cup of coffee. He smiled widely, his chest warming at the sight of Castiel’s sex hair and morning scruff. “Happy six month anniversary.”

Castiel smiled. “I didn’t expect you to remember.”

Dean just shrugged. He was a closet romantic, but he’d never admit it aloud.

“Actually, I have something for you,” Castiel said. He stood, retrieving some papers from his briefcase and handing them to Dean.

“Cas, you didn’t have to-“

“Read them, Dean.”

Dean scanned the papers, and it took him a few minutes to understand what they were saying. When he did, he looked up. Castiel looked proud of himself.

“I got Sam to draw them up,” Castiel said. “It turns one percent of the business over to you. Now we’re officially even; no one has control. I know you were worried about that before, about what would happen if we broke up and I had contro-“

Dean shut him up with a hard kiss. “You’re not planning on breaking up with me, are you?” he asked as he pulled away.

“Of course not,” Castiel said, his blue eyes sparkling despite the early hour. “To be honest, it bothered me too that we didn’t have equal control.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said, grinning. He wrapped his arms around Castiel and pulled him in for a tight hug, which Castiel returned. They both had equal control of the bakery now, but Dean hoped to never have to use it. Dean had never before been so certain, not even with Bela, but he felt that Castiel was it for him, for real this time. And, as he smiled into Castiel’s shoulder, he realized he wouldn’t have minded if Castiel had kept that extra percent. Dean was already trusting him with something far more precious and delicate than the business; he was trusting him with his heart, and Castiel would never let him down.

When at last they broke apart, Castiel sniffed at the air. “Do I smell vanilla?”

Dean grinned, gesturing at the mug on the counter. “Just how you like it.”

Something sparked in Castiel’s eyes, and Dean could’ve sworn any tiredness in Castiel’s face instantly morphed into something else entirely. “Dean,” Castiel began, ignoring the coffee altogether, “do you remember that day when we had a bake off and you exploded flour and sugar and vanilla all over yourself?”

“Yes,” Dean replied, knowing where this was going.

“And you remember what I said it did to me?”

Dean chuckled lightly, sending a not-so-sly glance down towards Castiel’s waist. “Yes.”  
Castiel grabbed Dean’s hand and began to tug him away. “I vote we go make up for what didn’t happen that day.”

It wasn’t in Dean’s power to resist with anything more than the words, “But the bakery-”

“The bakery can be closed for a day,” Castiel said matter-of-factly, pulling harder on Dean’s hand and guiding him towards the bedroom.

“But-”

Castiel stopped in the doorway, turning around to look Dean in the eye. His piercing blue gaze was bright and a little wild, and Dean swallowed hard. “Dean Winchester. We can stand to close the bakery for a day. It’s our half anniversary, and today,” Castiel continued, stepping closer and lowering his voice to a growl, “you are one hundred percent mine.”

Dean blinked for a half second before crashing his lips against Castiel's. After all, Castiel was right. The bakery would survive. Right now, though, Castiel had other plans for Dean, plans that Dean secretly hoped might waste the rest of their precious vanilla sugar. And, if they did, well, who was he to argue?

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to Maris (http://delicious-irony.tumblr.com) for providing the gorgeous art for this story! It was both of our first time doing the DCBB and I think it went rather well :) Check out just the art here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5099939


End file.
